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Yesterday was Saint Valentine’s Day.

A day which appears to be about the purchasing of certain items; chocolate, flowers, cards, jewellery, lingerie, shoes, small bears holding hearts with “I Luv U” embroidered on them, edible panties (technically a different category from lingerie) His & Hers matching onesies… etc, in order to show a person that they mean something to you.

It could be genius. It might allow you to behave like an apathetic uncaring jackass all year, then rock up on February 14th with a bottle of Champagne and a twinkle in your eye to ensure your beloved that actually, it’s all ok, and you do quite like them really.

Finally, being surrounded by the comforting hot water of the bubble bath that has been drawn for them while being fed chocolate covered strawberries, your partner feels validated and decides to forgive the 364 days of neglect because, hey! Barry White is playing!

It’s not that I Hate this day of Love. It’s that I am very indifferent to it.

I. Just. Don’t. Get. It.

And so I have never participated in the meals out or… you know, the other stuff.

One of my most memorable Valentine’s Days was the one where Jol and I moved house. It’s the only reason I remember the day we moved in.

The other was when we went for a morning jog, Jol suffered his first pneumothorax and we spent the day in A&E, he was moved to a ward and discharged a week later.

In our 14 year relationship, those are the only two I can recall.

And I imagine people might feel bad for me, that I don’t have 14 fabulous Valentine’s Day memories of restaurants or hotels or pretty gifts or what have you.

But really, what memories do most people have of this day every year? Do all the meals merge together? all the little trinkets become indistinguishable from each other?

What I remember is shortly after we started dating, and Jol realised I loved shiny things and could be distracted easily by them, he gave me a glittery tassley stick. I have no clue where he might have found it or what purpose it actually has. It is a shiny resin stick with silver bendy wire with stars and tassels exploding from one end. I love it. It is still sitting on my dresser.

I have no clue what day he gave it to me.

And all the times he has returned home from some event I didn’t attend, with a piece of cake wrapped in a napkin, squished flat, potentially stale from being left in his bag a few days (when he forgets he bought it home for me) looking utterly unappetising, and it fills my heart with joy. I scoff that dry compressed napkin cake and every bite tastes like love.

So you can keep your one day a year, because I rather like experiencing being loved in the little ways all year round.


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