Valentine’s Day is only two days away and as usual I’m racked with contradiction and confusion. Part of me, the cynical me, thinks that of course it’s pure nonsense, why should we buy our loved ones flowers or take them out for dinner on this day, when it’s common knowledge that prices are shamelessly hiked, the flowers always wilt after only a few days and the wait staff are stressed to the max, pushing to squeeze in at least two seatings, leaving you not only with a big hole in your wallet but also with a bad case of indigestion? After all, if you love your man (or woman) why wait until this day? Why not surprise them out of the blue, just because you thought of them, just because you love them? It means so much more.
Hmmm… yes that’s all very well, but then there is the other part of me, who, despite growing up in a country that didn’t celebrate Valentine’s until long after I’d emigrated, and so theoretically shouldn’t have any emotional attachment to this commercially driven day, still longs for the man to bring home a pretty box filled with hand-made champagne truffles, who wants him to have written a little poem just for me, who wants some ridiculously flimsy silk underwear to prance around in, and who wants to recline on cushions while he feeds me hand-peeled lychees.
Oh, the struggle, the struggle…
Last year on Valentine’s we watched Dennis Rodman play for the Brighton Bears, which wasn’t exactly romantic (we ate greasy hotdogs and drank gigantic buckets of some unidentified cola drink), but made up for it by being both fun and pretty unusual.
So, what to do this year? Ignore it all together? Or blow the budget on the most luxurious ingredients and prepare a fabulous dinner, complete with pink champagne and said hand-peeled lychees?
What do you think of this day? What’s the most romantic thing you have ever done for anyone, or, for that matter, what’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you?
Photo by Trazy