I hate Valentines Day.
I wonder sometimes if I am one of the few people who doesn’t get “romance” or if I’m one of the few who does.
I hate heart shaped boxes of chocolates, heart shaped beds, heart shaped jacuzzis – well anything heart shaped really. All I would be able to think about if I walked in my bedroom and saw rose petals strewn on the floor would be that I was going to have to clean them up later – and that possibly Vincent might need a CAT scan.
I love a bottle of good champagne but I don’t really associate it with tender feelings. A single red rose just makes me wonder where the hell the other eleven roses are. A room filled with lighted candles would just make me nervous. And who came up with that whole simultaneous massage thing? What a terrible idea. Spending time together by paying someone else to rub your partner just seems lazy to me.
All this being said I love romantics gestures. But what I think is romantic may not cut it for other people.
First off, I don’t think you can plan sex. You are just setting yourself up for failure. Good sex is always accidental.
And then the gestures that really make my heart feel loved are really just simple:
When I’m brought a cup of tea in bed first thing in the morning.
When someone half asleep rolls over in the night and wakes up just long enough to give you a quick peck on the cheek then falls immediately back into snoring.
When someone checks the air pressure in your tires.
When someone really laughs at your jokes.
When someone fixes your crooked collar, or makes you “change that ugly tie.”
When someone will answer the question “what is this thing on my back?”
When someone takes the dogs out so you can sleep longer.
When someone says I’m sorry.
But the most romantic thing to me is to look over and see that same person who was there yesterday choosing to spend another day of their life with you – having the same arguments, listening to the same old stories, watching things droop and sag – and smiling at each other for no apparent reason.