Valentine, Schmalentine

I survived Valentines Day.

As it drew near I had very low expectations, but to be truthful, I had no idea what to do.

As I bought cute little cards and chocolate lollipops for my darling children, it occurred to me that this was the first Valentines Day in decades that I'd not had a Valentine.

Craig and I aren't quite "Craig & I" yet and may never actually get there. And like any God fearing man, he'd be wise to just ignore the whole thing. Who knows how many women he's juggling? There could be dozens of  cards and gifts to personalize and remember what went to whom.  He'd be smart just to be on a business trip and not even acknowledge the holiday at all. Which is what he did.

I did however get a Valentine text from Scott.

Yes. Scott. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'll back up and retrace the steps that led to that in a moment.

So like everyone else in the world of women, I got up that day, put on something pink (I don't own much red, I have no idea why) and went to work wondering what if anything else the day would bring.

And as the women in my office got balloon bouquets and flower arrangements and candy and surprise visits for lunch, I remembered how this day used to feel.

To be truthful - now don't call me crazy here - the best Valentiner I ever had in my life was Lars.  Lars, if you had to do a side-by-side comparison of all the history of the men in my life and what qualities they possessed or woefully lacked or met standard female expectations, would very likely take top prize in the gift giving category.

He was always a precise thoughtful gift giver. Paid attention to what I liked. Got the size and color right. Made things meaningful (when the whole shooting match was meaningful, that is) and in turn made me feel special. Until the gifts of atonement came into play, which made me feel stupid and bought.

But Valentines Day was where he was his shiny best. To him, it mattered that I felt loved and adored and cherished on this day. He wasn't going to just check the box. He could take me out to dinner or buy a box of candy or bring home a lovely flower arrangement and it would be wonderful. But Lars knew how the game was played with women. 

Lars wanted me to be gushed over in front of all the other women in the office. As gifts began to arrive, he wanted everyone to take note of mine. How it compared. He wanted me to be blushing over the gesture. A lovely card, a Pajama-gram, two dozen roses, a bouquet of chocolate chip cookies on long stems. 

But those days are long over, as we all know. Small sacrifice in the long run.

I reached out to other women in my life that I knew were also alone. I wished them each a happy day, told them they were loved and adored. Rambled with each about what we were all going to do to distract us from the lack of romance.  And I brought home Chinese food for the kids and opened a bottle of wine for me and watched a movie snuggled on the floor with them both (both kids, not the Chinese food and the wine...) Chatted with a friend or two whose celebrations were not what they'd hoped for due to something or someone unexpected. The lonely hearts had each found their way by the time we all said goodnight.

And I wonder what my next trip around the sun will bring, and if next year my Valentines Day will look exactly the same.  Another reminder that I am not 22.