Since the moment I became conscious of Valentine's Day I have hated it, forever. It has always been a popularity contest from the kiss-o-grams in elementary school to the size of the flower bouquets given by parents or (gasp) boyfriends in high school. It always made me, a non-receiver, feel insignificant and lowly. But then the ones actually receiving junk never seemed excited about it either, or at least not the junk, just the moment.
Because of my fierce hatred of this holiday Mr. Neruda and I have decided to not celebrate it. We have tried some things in the past and they have always fallen flat. So nay to it all!
And then . . . V-Day came. I woke up to Mr. Neruda getting out of bed with the promise of donuts and coffee. A grand idea I thought to myself as I rolled over to sleep more. However, the next time I awoke Mr. Neruda was standing over the bed with a bag of donuts, two somethings wrapped beautifully, a vase of flowers beside the bed and a tiny bottle of my favorite champagne. I was shocked and amazed and giggled the entire time I opened two wonderfully used books for my Pulitzer collection and sniffed my flowers and licked cinnamon and sugar from my fingers.
Because the morning began so wonderfully we let the good times continue to roll by lulling in bed, reading poetry to one another, laughing and just enjoying the moment. It turned into one of the best moments we have had in a long time. I love when such surprising occasions knock the brooding hatred right out of my cold, bitter heart.
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