Yesterday, on Valentines Day, the husband and I were woken by the sunlight streaming through the curtains, the gentle chirping of birds welcoming the dawn of Spring, the scent of fresh coffee in the air. Very romance, much love, so smooches. Jokes, it was raining, the dogs were howling at the solitary magpie in the garden and we were out of teabags.
The husband stretched lazily, opened one eye and leaped up like he’d been shot.
Him: Shit. SHIT! I forgot to write your card.
Me: Oh thank Christ, me too.
Him (cautiously): Erm….shall we save them til next year?
Me: NO! Go and be romantic. Now.
Husband leaves room.
Five minutes pass.
Husband shouts up the stairs: Yeah…have you got a pen?
An unromantic kick off but actually I adored having to go and write something romantic there on the spot. It meant that we started a schmaltzy day neither of us cares much about articulating our affection for our strange selves and this weird little life we have together. With croissants.
I may turn this into a tradition. A. Daily. Tradition. SURPRISE husband!
Valentines Day – whether you love it or loathe it or think it’s a pile of commercialised boohockey, I hope you had love in your day: romantic, familial, friendly or self (snort). Did you?
Don’t miss last week’s posts –
And I Turned Thirty Two, yay for me!