I’m not a big fan of Valentine’s Day. I may have mentioned it before.
In fact, I’ve spent a fair amount of this week whinging about how much I hate the commercialism, the pressure and the girl in the street who can’t even carry the huge bunch of red roses her boyfriend got her.
Evidence yet again that I’ve let Valentine’s get to me and I don’t know why I let it. I mean firstly, isn’t a whole day dedicated to sweet loving my very life blood? I freaking love LOVE, man.
And I am still in love, after all these years. Yet neither of us are VD celebrators (again, the holiday not the STD) so when I drop hints about things I don’t need or even want (flowers/jewellery/a basket full of kittens in pink neckties), my S.O. rightly ignores me.
He knows I’m being irrational, manipulated by a fat flying baby and we don’t have the money for big gifts anyway. Even if we did, wouldn’t we both prefer food? I’m happy and content as I am, Saint Fucking Valenpants, so back the hell off.
That said, I had a mini-huff a few evenings ago over our complete lack of romantic plans this weekend – only to be met a moment later with a new email notification. Ticket confirmation for Deadpool on Sunday. For 2, premier seats.
Burgers for lunch, gelato afterwards.
Proof romance is not dead, not even sleeping. Proof that love still has a pulse and doesn’t need its own day in the sun (but sometimes that can be nice, I guess). Valentine’s always does one thing I can’t deny: it serves to make me think about love in all its forms.
Big, flashy and completely O.T.T. versus Everyday loving.
Neither is the right way and they’re not mutually exclusive, obvs – you can chose any kind whenever you like. But I like the kind that sends the love of my life into town on a Saturday to pick up a package because he knows I hate crowds. When it’s raining.
The kind that delivers a cup of tea every now and again without asking. My favourite is the kind that orders Deadpool tickets and helps me sneak Burger King into the theatre too.
I’m going to stop being so down on the whole thing from now on because it’s not so bad. If I don’t like it, I can buy my own chocolates and jewellery.
Plus, Valentine’s spawned Woman Appreciation Day, AKA Galentine’s and that’s just the best. My princess Tatty bought me flowers and candy to cheer me up, and I sent cards to my local babes (and mum). Not going to lie that it feels good to spread love (and one day I might organise myself to go internationally).
Let’s face it, our girls are the important ones really. They’re the ones who listen to us moan 24/7, talk to us about contouring and help us sort ourselves out when we’re having yet another crisis of confidence.
Love is a broad thing, man. And this post is practically Belgian, so full of waffle it is.