bah, humbug

I have a confession.

I am quite fond of saying I am the valentines day scrooge. I've said it perhaps four times throughout the day to different people. I act all stand-offish and act like I think valentines day is a big corporate hoax to get people to buy flowers and chocolates and cards. I say the whole thing gets on my nerves.

But it's a lie.

Secretly.... secretly I want to wear pink glittery nail polish and paint hearts on my cheeks with lipstick and walk around shooting nerf love-darts at everybody.

So, why the act?

To be fair, I have traumatic early memories regarding shameless confessions of love for people. Derrick, who sat next to me in kindergarten, one day kissed me on the cheek in the middle of class. Everybody laughed and I was embarrassed, but later I decided I should do something in return, so I picked him some flowers on the playground. When I offered them to him, he tossed them on the ground saying “flowers are for girls.” In third grade, I decided to risk love once again, so I sent Tremayne a valentine on which I'd written “I love you. P.S. Don't tell anyone!” Of course, he told everyone, and I decided it best to deny that it was even from me. Later on, in junior high and high school when they'd deliver carnations or candy or messages to your friends in class on V-Day, not once did I ever receive anything. Not once!

...Until...

Senior year, I became friends with this very sweet guy who was in both my English and Government classes. We loved talking to each other, such that we soon resorted to writing notes back and forth, discussing any topic you can imaging. On Feb. 14 of my senior year, the school was delivering cans of “Crush” soda as valentines, and he sent me one. We were just friends, but for some reason I kept the “To Robyn, From Adam” message that was delivered along with that can, and it meant so much to me.

Of course, five months later I married a guy from my church, and the sweet guy from high school moved to Belgium.

But somehow—and it's still sort of a blur to me how it all happened—somehow, here we are. Eight years later, February 14, we've been together for two and a half years. Adam has invited me down to his house where he has offered to cook dinner for me, and we're going to enjoy a nice red wine and a mystery movie, and cuddle.

So, I guess by now, I should be over that whole valentine's day scrooge thing, huh?