When I was in my early twenties I used to wish that someone special would send me flowers or cards or take me out to dinner at valentines. I didn’t want to pre-empt anything so as not to ruin a surprise. My love interests were always on that border of not quite committing to a relationship and therefore not quite comfortable about celebrating a day like this with me.
Sometimes I thought that they were all just pretending to have better plans and ended up lonely.
The few valentines days that stood out were both impromptu. A Sunday lunch with an old friend who was also dateless (he bought me a rose, which was the sweetest thing in those days) and we pretended that we were a couple for the day to keep everyone guessing. Turns out, years later, after our friendship based only on meeting up about 4 times a year for a movie and coffee, he hinted at a marriage proposal and I stopped meeting up with him for good.
The other really nice Valentine’s happened when I was not expecting anyone at all. I had made myself a singleton dinner (potato bake) and was going to resort to watching TV and drinking a bottle of red by myself when a guy I had just started sort of dating (and whose relationship with his current girlfriend, who lived on his property, was still being resolved) popped by. We had the loveliest time and he didn’t once mention valentines. We ate out of the casserole dish, drank the bottle, laughed, joked and had some serious conversation. It was so special and real and I was equally confused especially when he said goodbye. He had created, for me, one of the most perfect goodnight kiss moments and then turned around and walked away without doing it.
The story with him is that I found out he was gay soon after (although he, himself, may still be in the closet). This, explained a whole bunch of things...not worth mentioning right now.
Valentine’s within dysfunctional relationships, to me, feels more of a waste than a disappointment. Disappointment is: dashed expectations. But when your partner buys you flowers, cards and takes you out to dinner (which is all you ever wanted years ago), and there is no spark, it’s like doing an obligatory duty. You appreciate it, you don’t enjoy it.
And you realise you would much rather (actually) have earth-shattering, mind-numbing, heart-thumping Luurrrvvve, than all the valentine’s surprises in the world.
The message on yesterday’s blog was not for FW. Bless.
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