When I was 5, Valentine’s Day 1981 was a day for eating sweets and exchanging hand-made cards with all the other kids in my kindergarten class.
When I was 10, Valentine’s Day 1986 was a day for eating sweets and getting my hair pulled by the boys in my fifth grade class.
When I was 15, Valentine’s Day 1991 was a day for eating sweets and watching all the girls with boyfriends get flowers and get felt-up in the hallways in high school.
When I was 20, Valentine’s Day 1996 was a day for eating sweets and running to the health center at college to beg for a dose of the morning after pill.
When I was 25, Valentine’s Day 2001 was a day for eating sweets and trying too hard to make the day special for the stupidest reasons.
When I was 30, Valentine’s Day 2006 was a day for eating sweets and instructing girls how to give hand jobs to guys they barely knew for money.
When I was 35, Valentine’s Day 2011 was a day for eating sweets and still getting to know my new husband of less than two months.
When I was 36, Valentine’s Day last year was a day for eating sweets while pregnant and hoping my heartburn wouldn’t make me regret eating sweets.
I’m now 37. I’m married to a man who provides me sweets every day, a man who judges none of my Valentine’s Day pasts or any other days of my past for that matter. I’m married to a man who somehow actually delights in taking February 14th out of the year to point and drop extra tokens of love and appreciation my way. And who am I to take that away from my husband? Not me. I consider myself lucky.
Who is anyone to take Valentine’s Day away from anyone, really?
This one “Valentine’s Day” of the year that is the source of fifty shades of torment to tenderness for people of every shade and color. It’s like your birthday, where every year you’re just reminded of what you did or didn’t do the year before, except Valentine’s Day is made up. So if you hate it or just love to hate it or wish you didn’t have to hate it, just let the day pass. If you love it, enjoy the day passing.
Between the ages of 25 to 35, for me, Valentine’s Day was basically an annual reminder of how single I was. And not in a good way, because the “v” in Valentine’s Day stood for “vacant” for me for so long. Fuck buddies cannot be Valentines. No. And if I’d married someone who wasn’t into Valentine’s Day, I wouldn’t be “into it” either. But I wouldn’t bitch and moan and make other people feel bad about it.
So I’m going to go to bed now to wake up on Valentine’s Day and eat sweets and kiss my baby and await what is in store for me, big and small, from my husband who happens to enjoy having a day to be extra “something something”.
~ Happy Valentine’s Day my love, if you’re reading…