I have a secret – I really, really don’t like Valentines. There I said it. Whew! Don’t judge. I can take anything but your judgement. ‘But Mia,’ you say. ‘you write Romance novels, the shamed, red headed, stepchild, underbelly of the book world.’
I know. I know. I don’t hate love. I don’t hate relationships though they are hella hard people. (Everyone crying into their beer or soy lattes don’t discount some of the joys of single’s life.) I do hate this day. I hate it for all the same reasons naysayers who hate everything about traditional relationships hate this day. It’s manufactured, plastic and very empty. It’s designed to stalk those who are insecure in their relationship status as well as force those of us in one to make an empty gesture to an empty day.
Needless to say I agree with those who say you should show your love year round, kind of like be kind all year not only at Christmas. I have friends I adore who adore this holiday, and no they’re not only suburban housewives, but there are a few of those. They are ladies (and men) who like to get dressed for their partner and go to dinner and think of something sweet to give to their longtime (or short time) loves. In all, when done with an open heart, not calculating in nature, it’s sweet. I just can’t get into it.
Some of my indifference probably stems from my SO who didn’t like the holiday and did a lot to suck my joy of it away in the beginning years of us. Irony is now that I share their original sentiment to the holiday, they are the ones who look forward to celebrating on Love Day. A cautionary warning from Auntie Mia kiddos – be careful what you sow in a relationship. Those roots form the deepest and are hardest to pull and start over.
Well enough ranting, I need to get ready. Going to lunch because kid’s activities rule out dinner. Definitely a martini later. With someone I love and respect and have spent the better half of my life with at this point in my aging. And that I suppose is reason enough for celebration.