Well it’s that time of the year again when thoughts turn to the horror that is Valentines Day. I love/hate Valentines Day. By which I mean I love it when I am in a relationship and I hate it when I’m not.
I’m a sucker for hearts and flowers and I love the idea that people are being proposed to, and saying “I love you” for the first time, and sending flowers and receiving flowers and going out for dinner and generally getting loved up. I know that there are those who say it’s a made up day designed to take your money. Well, there are plenty of days like that. There are others which argue we shouldn’t need a designated day to show our love for our significant other but that argument holds no sway with me. If that was the case then we wouldn’t need a special day to celebrate birthdays and I am not giving up the one day a year when I am guaranteed cake and good tidings from all I meet.
Last year, I was in a new relationship and there was an amazing meal cooked for me and a gorgeous bunch of flowers and I wore fantastic red dress. It was just the tiniest bit anti-climactic (no pun intended) because whilst I was sans children, he was not and so there was no lovely sleep in and leisurely breakfast to follow but thems the breaks in modern single parent dating land.
This year, alas, I find myself single again. Valentines Day just grinds rock salt into that open wound and makes for a crappy sort of day. You can’t go to a café because it’s filled with post-coital loved uppedness which is nauseating to say the least. You can’t go shopping because every single outlet on the planet is decked out with pink and red hearts to remind you that you’re all alone. You can’t go to the movies because guaranteed you’ll be the only single person there. So you just have to find something good on Netflix, something written by or starring Aziz Ansari might be helpful, and curl up under a blanket for the day.
But the night before, I am embracing Leslie Knope’s concept, Galentines Day, celebrated on 13th February, and I’m going out on the town with two fabulous women and planning to thoroughly enjoy myself. Yes, I will wake up alone on the 14th. Yes, I will lament this fact. Yes I will wish I was opening the door to a surprise bunch of the reddest of red roses, and yes there will be a tiny bit of me which really believes this could happen.
That’s part of the magic though isn’t it? To have faith, to hope, to still believe? I think I’d rather feel sad on Valentines Day because I don’t have a special fella when I would really like to have one, than feel nothing at all because I’ve given up.