Valentine’s Day is ridiculous. Maybe I’m still traumatized from when the love of my 15 year old life, Chuck, broke up with me on Valentine’s Day – he did it over the phone and I never even got a chance to give him the collage/vision board I had made for him, full of cut-out magazine pictures of couples in love, words that spelled out my devotion to him, pictures of us together, etc.
Chuck was cute and not exactly the brightest bulb in the lamp, and I think I actually had already fallen out of love with him by the time he broke up with me, but still… the fact that he did it on VALENTINE’S DAY… not cool, Chuck. Not cool.
At least now I have a husband whom I can force to get me gifts and flowers and chocolates, etc. to commemorate the day. And my mother is so sweet – she always remembers to send my 3 kids cards and chocolate. But this day always sucked when I was single and I still feel a pang of commiseration with those not-yet-hitched.
Plus I’m superstitious. Maybe it’s the Chuck thing, but I’m always on high alert around V-Day, wondering if I or my husband will turn particularly needy (me) or moody (him) and ruin the whole darn charade. I did have a boyfriend once who went crazy (in a good way) on V Day for me – took me to a fancy dinner, fancy hotel, champagne, jewelry… but this boyfriend was also a pothead and a narcissist, and I think it may have been more about “him doing a romantic gesture” than him actually making the day special for us.
There is a Disney Princess inside me who longs to be surprised and showered with flowers and gifts, swept off my feet and into a fancy restaurant/hotel/destination getaway. Especially now that I’ve found my Prince (vs. some pothead/narcissist/none-too-bright kid). Give me a reason to wear a fancy dress, an excuse for more sparkle, and a memory that will supplant, for once and for all, Valentine’s Day as the Day I Got Dumped.
It’s never too late…