By the time I had a boyfriend, I was in my second year of college. My expectations for Valentine’s Day had grown from the loneliness of high school into outrageous denial. My dopey, sweet boyfriend didn’t know what hit him. He surprised me with a bouquet of wildflowers and I surprised him with happy tears. At least, that’s what I called them after I sobbed into his daisies for an hour. No one had ever bought me flowers. I was touched, and shocked by my emotions.
Of course, the good memories are often weighted down by assholes. A few years ago, I was in a short relationship with an architect. He was what women refer to as “good on paper.” And while he was smart enough to come over to my apartment for a romantic dinner, he was stupid enough to dump me during a pathetic display of it’s-not-you-it’s-me.
For the record: it was definitely him. Who breaks up with a woman on Valentine’s Day?
My current—and amazing—boyfriend and I got drunk last year. We didn’t mean to. We had been dating for a few months and I didn’t want to rush anything. We made a last-minute reservation at a fancy Italian restaurant, but couldn’t be seated until 11pm. Never a couple to let late plans stop us, we decided to go to our favorite bar to kill time before dinner. Three bottles of red wine later, we practically crashed into the restaurant. After some long-forgotten pasta and more wine, we ended up in bed blissful and ecstatic about our relationship, our hot sex, and our ridiculous Valentine’s Day.
I started to bug my boyfriend about this Valentine’s Day in January.
Christmas and New Year’s were over, the weather had gotten the best of me, and I wanted something sweet to look forward to. He looked surprised, and admitted that he did not take me for a Valentine’s Day girl.
But that’s the rub—I’m not a Valentine’s Day girl. But behind every lonely girl who rolls her eyes about the day and gets drunk at a bar before dinner, is a girl who wants something special and romantic.
Would I trade one day of over-the-top dinners and chocolates for a lifetime of daily flowers and poetry just because? Sure. But until my boyfriend robs a florist and learns how to cook, I will settle for one day of over-the-top romantic bliss. The sixteen year old in me needs it. And the twenty-six year old in me would also accept a copious amount of red wine and hot sex.