V-Day Past & Present

I wouldn’t exactly label my past Valentines’ experiences as enviable. Let’s take a look…

The first Valentines that meant anything to me was in the 8th grade. He was thirteen, I was thirteen, and it was beyond exciting for a young girl. So when I arrived (adorned head-to-to in pink, compliments of ‘The Gap’), I was pretty excited and wondering if I might get a flower, or some chocolates, or…my first kiss? Instead, I walked into the pod/locker area, to find him heralding a group of students so that he could read me a poem in front of the crowd. When you’re thirteen, this is mortifying. Thank God for the bell. Unfortunately, that only meant a more intimate encounter in front of a classroom.
The next Valentines was about three years later, after a serious red and pink dry spell. Two men showed up at my door within about 4 minutes of each other. My dad had always told me that the boys would ‘line up at the door’ once I was older. What he didn’t tell me is that when they show up at the same time, they give up. That was definitely not a win-win, though I did score some jewelry, flowers, a small stuffed animal, and a check written out to the amount of ‘one kiss.’
The next year I started into my first serious relationship on the actual holiday (el dangereux). Somewhere in that relationship, we had a gift exchange that went like this: I created a gorgeous package of cologne, a collage of pictures of us, and a few other sweet nothings I have since forgotten–all totaling the value of about $100. In exchange, I received the scariest 3D rainbow picture frame with five (count them), five eagles flying outwards in the direction of the viewer. He knew I liked birds. When that came to a tragic ending a year and a half later, Valentines (or my ‘anniversary’ was then mud to me).
Then there was the fling-mance I had in college that involved the largest ball of flowers I’ve ever received with a huge stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh bear. I had to harness a partner to help me get the load out of the sorority house. Unfortunately, money doesn’t buy love either.
The next year a guy in another state tried to mail me some rubber ducks and a card for Valentines, though he wasn’t aware you couldn’t just give the post office a first and last name and have them mail something. Apparently, you needed an address. I’ll let you guess how that one ended.
So here we are, Valentines 2010. Remarkably normal, sweet, and surprisingly one of the best days yet in the year. When you know, you know. And sometimes all it takes is just a bottle of champagne, home-cooked dinner, and a cheesy romantic comedy.

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