It seems that people have varying opinions of Valentine’s Day. For some, it’s an opportunity to show the person that you’re with, how much you adore and appreciate them. For others it’s labelled as ‘commercialised’, a money-spinner, an ‘American’ thing, or for the 15 year-old me, a day that comes with high hopes of random romanticism from any dashing young man who was daring enough to suggest an inkling of actually being attracted to me, fuelled by movie plot lines.*
I have had many a fab Valentine’s Day gifts. They were usually cards, usually homemade or out of context and hilarious, but all with love from Mr T. The best one he gave me was a copy of Ralph Wiggum’s ‘I choo-choo-choose you’ card to Lisa Simpson. Pure comedic awesomeness.
Since he’s not here, I’ve been celebrating the day with good friends, doing fab-mazing stuff and generally toasting to ourselves in a proclamation of self-love. There was the year that I was hung over with a friend after a beer festival and we did cutesy stuff like pose with a rose, drew love hearts in the sand, shared more beer, and let a mozzarella cheese string stretch between our pieces of pizza in a mock of Lady & the Tramp. There was the dolled-up dinner with a group of single ladies, the dessert for dinner evening followed by skinny dipping, and this year was spent performing random acts of kindness after checking out a lantern festival.
I try not to think about the crazy cards and hand-picked posies that I don’t receive, but more the love that I have for myself and how awesome I am. I don’t think that I tell myself that often enough; so for me, Valentine’s Day is a reminder to me to love myself for who I am. So… Happy Valentine’s Day me! x
*Admittedly this has happened once when I was 17. Getting a single red rose from a secret admirer that never revealed themselves, is quite perplexing.