So after all my mature, serene, and well adjusted peremptory feelings about Valentine’s Day, I kind of snarfed all over it. I know I’ve said that I don’t care about it. I don’t need to pay $100 for a dinner out that would normally cost $50. I don’t need any presents. And even if I did want presents, I would totally forfeit in the spirit of fairness, because Valentine’s gift ideas for boys are just beyond me.
But I did think that it could still be special without going to an awful lot of forced effort to make it so.
And then? It just wasn’t and now I’m bitter. I’m just like all those other girls who cry because they didn’t get their diamond studs! Except I’m all mope and moan because the TV did get turned on. And Family Guy was watched. I didn’t shower when I got home from the gym, since it was already getting close to 7 and we needed to start dinner. I had developed a handful of zits on my chin, some of which were being huge and mean, so I was feeling gross. David had a headache. Once the TV went on, I was already feeling two sheets to a weep about it, and I didn’t say anything; just felt all harumph instead. Dinner wasn’t ready until a quarter to 9 and we ate on the couch.
So, I thought I didn’t care. But I do, I guess.
And the thing is, the whole reason that I feel like I don’t, or shouldn’t, care about Valentine’s Day is because every day should be Valentine’s Day, shouldn’t it? Do I really need a day to say “I love you and I love us and I think we’re pretty special?” Obviously, laundry and nights out with the girls and bad days at work and whatever else will get in the way some times. But there should still be plenty of days left for valentines.
Like today. I’m totally going to request that we have a non-tv night. I’ll get home in time to start dinner at a reasonable time and I should be able to make sure that the table is clear. I may even break out the Scrabble board. How’s that for a do over?
margaret edith 