I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day. My first memory of this day is of sitting in my kindergarten class with a stack of valentines we had to write out for everyone in the class, convinced in my 4 year old soul that I wouldn’t get one. Later, when we were allowed to be selective, I got that sick, sinking feeling all over again when I realised that no boy in his right mind would go through that humiliation of dropping a valentine in a little decorative mail slot at the back of the room (unless he really liked a girl). Not at the age of eight anyway. That year and most that followed, valentines were thin on the ground.
As the years passed, I’ve had my share of cards and flowers, but I’ve always regarded the date as a commercial thing, devoid of any real romance. I’ve appreciated the gestures, but I’ve always liked the random things, acts of affection that have arrived unprompted and as a surprise.
It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow and every place in town will be jam packed with couples and pink balloons, cut out paper hearts and long stem roses, more chocolates that can be good for any woman to finish off on her own without wanting to kill herself from guilt and join a gym…
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a romantic, a big softy. What I love are random acts of generosity and birthdays. That is the day of the year that is all about a single person in your life and I always try to make a big deal out of them. It’s a chance to celebrate everything that one person is.
I’m rambling now. Ok, write about something romantic, anything.