So. Another Valentine’s Day has passed us by.
For me it was just another early morning at work. Except every other anchor script I wrote had a tinge of lovey-doveyness to it. “If you’re looking for love online this Valentine’s Day, watch out…” or “Love is in the air today, so what better day to tie the knot…for free?” Things like that.
Doesn’t bother me. Honestly. I have a Valentine. I’m good. And even if I didn’t, I’d still be good. Hell, single people can nibble on Whitman’s Sampler chocolate too. (Forrest Gump was right. Those fuckers are unpredictable…)
So yeah. I’m not hatin’. Though apparently, I give off an air of anti-romance, because my boss immediately (albeit, jokingly) looked to me when he discovered someone had written “I HATE VALENTINE’S DAY” on sheets spread across the conference table.
I got a few boxes of chocolates, two bears, and thirteen roses. The dozen was from my boyfriend. Oh, and some Cold Stone Creamery gift cards.
(I’ll go ahead and add those to the chocolate tally, because for the past 7 years, the only ice cream I ever consume there is Chocolate Devotion. Size? “Like It.” “Love it” if I’m feeling daring.)
All the chocolate, and the red everywhere…For a second I thought we were celebrating the first day of my period. (By the way, thanks for getting in the holiday spirit, Uterus.)
So yeah. No one had ever gotten me roses before. In an “I wanna be yours/Oh wait I already am/So this means I’m definitely getting laid tonight, right?” kinda way. It was sweet. I was genuinely touched.
We celebrated a little early in the week. Work schedules not meshing and that sort of thing. That’s okay. I liked it better this way. Celebrating a holiday on the actual holiday is so mainstream.
About the roses — I mean I’ve always wanted a guy I was seeing to get me roses. Or flowers of any kind. It just seems like a thoughtful, kind gesture. But I guess when I think about it…what’s it really saying?
“My love for you is like these roses…Insanely expensive, covered in pesticides, and wilting more and more with each passing day!”?
Though, I guess getting the “WTF?” scowl from your woman when you hand her plastic roses just isn’t worth the trouble.
“But baby, don’t you see? My love for you is like this plastic. It’ll never die.”
“…You cheap motherfucker!”
Yeah…probably not worth it.
It’s the thought that counts though, right?