I don't hate Valentine's Day, I just think it's a bore. I still want presents though. In honor of this boring day, I asked Chris if he would mind if I posted the story of our Valentine's Day last year as an example of a crappy Valentine's Day. He said no based on the totally irrational objection that the story I wanted to tell was not true. What a stickler! Now really, the story I was going to tell is true, it just did not happen on Valentine's Day. Once I realized that, I asked Chris if he would mind if I said it did happen on Valentine's Day because that would make it funnier. He felt that would be lying. I felt it would be artistic license. However, since Chris has withheld permission to tell the story based on the minor detail of it being partially a bald-faced lie, you will all have to wait and hear it on Mother's Day, which is when it really did happen and therefore he cannot object.
(I feel I should take this opportunity to mention that if you are looking for something as dull and pedestrian as the truth you ought to look somewhere else. I consider this a "reality-based" blog in that I have no qualms about changing facts to suit my idea of funny and presenting them to you as the unvarnished truth. I rarely make anything up out of whole cloth, but I also frequently rearrange reality to suit my whims (which I also do in real life, but we won't get into that). Now you can't say I never told you.)
Anyway, I wanted to tell the story because I thought I would do this thing where I posted my worst story and then asked all of you to post your worst stories and we would all have a giggle, but then I realized that probably 27 of you would have had the same idea and we would get tired of reading the same stories over and over. Instead, I am going to tell you about my most romantic Valentine's Day (which I do not need my husband's permission to post because we hadn't even met yet, take that!) and then if you want you can tell me about your most romantic Valentine's Day and, oh I don't know, maybe anybody who has a story so sweet it actually causes me to vomit will win a prize or something. Alternately, in the spirit of my not-quite-true blog, you may make something up and tell me a big whopping lie.
This story is entirely true. Valentine's Day senior year of high school I was dating this guy named Xavier. (Ok, entirely true except he was not named Xavier.) We had been going out since around Christmas. On Valentine's Day, I went over to his house and up to his room where he had artistically arranged on his bed a teddy bear, a fabric rose like you can buy at 7-Eleven, and a bad poem (guy's an engineer now, poetry is not so much his thing) that said something about having the teddy bear to keep me company at night and that he loved me (which he had not said to me before). I thought at the time that it was the most romantic thing I could imagine, and I still think it was romantic because it involved 1) the effort to think of something sweet (even though it was pretty cheesy), 2) an honest statement of feelings, and 3) going beyond his comfort zone to do something he thought I would like (I fancied myself a rather fabulous poet at the time).
(It is also entirely true that the last time I saw Xavier was when I randomly ran into him in Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. That would also be romantic if we were currently able to be in the same room without spitting at each other. Oh, and if I hadn't been, you know, married and with my husband at the time.).
And there you have it, my moment of grand Valentine's Day romance from (counting on fingers... and toes) 14 years ago today. Your turn, tell me a story. Oh, and send chocolates.