Growing up I always loathed this day. And when I say I loathed I really mean it. I never had a real live boyfriend, and I SWEAR every other girl in the entire school did. Every last one of them. OK maybe not all of them, but at least all of the ones I knew. OK maybe not even all of the ones I knew, but judging by how many flowers and suckers and chocolates were floating around my school, every girl should have had 2 of each. Instead it seems like 12 girls got 144 of each. Now by my math, and by the law of consecration – that isn’t fair.
I do feel obligated to mention that I did have one unbelievably over the top celebrated Valentine’s Day in Jr. High (roses, chocolate kisses, mixed CD’s, decorated locker, the whole 9 yards). And that did make me feel incredibly important, special, and even well liked. Every other Valentine’s Day, however, I got nothing and felt stupid about it.
Maybe it’s because I despised the holiday when I was alone and haven’t grown out of it yet; maybe it’s because I won’t see Josh for more than 10 minutes tonight and I’m denying that that’s abnormal; maybe it’s just the fact that I’m a grown up, I’m in a real relationship, and Valentine’s Day doesn’t make that relationship any more real than it already is; or maybe it’s because all holidays are boring without kids. Maybe it’s another reason all together, but this year it’s really not a big deal. I couldn’t care less if I don’t get flowers. I’m fine with not getting a card. In fact, I’d really be OK if nobody even mentioned the Holiday of Love. Today I know I love my husband. And I know he loves me. And today I am happy to be in love. I guess that is the point of Valentine’s Day so maybe I AM celebrating!
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