Yesterday I saw the Twitter and Facebook posts about how Valentine’s Day is silly, unnecessary, an invention of Hallmark. One man said he was proud he and his wife didn’t celebrate the occasion. A woman allowed as how she wouldn’t succumb to such meaningless societal pressure. As for me and my house, we say bring it on.
I was a young woman who made it to one prom in high school and maybe two fraternity formals in college; a twentysomething who was in more weddings than she can remember; a thirtysomething who spent many nights listening to girlfriends complain about their boyfriends as I sat home alone; and a middle-aged goober who married (yes, for the first time) at age 41.
When those roses arrive at the doorstep every February 14, I’m thrilled. Taking them out of the box and arranging them in the crystal vase my husband and I received for a wedding gift makes me happy. Going to a “fancy” restaurant for dinner and savoring every bite brings me great satisfaction. Coming home to sit on the couch, stare at my flowers, and know I am loved by Precious resembles nothing less than joy to me.
I was single for a long time, and I knew how to do it well. I had long gotten over any stigma about not having a husband. I could repair my own toilet, eat alone in restaurants, and attend parties solo without so much as a second thought. I worked hard to be okay by myself, really okay, not just lip-service “I don’t need a man” okay. The kind of okay that allowed me to pursue my dreams all by my lonesome. The kind of okay that let me know I did not need a partner to be whole, and that I could leave my mark on the world without a mate.
I went on blind dates, as few and far between as they were; did online dating; attended relationship seminars for singles; whined to God. Invited people over for dinner, took up extracurricular activities, went to churches rumored to have lots of “young people.” Whatever the relationship advisors suggested, I tried. And then I accepted the reality that not every woman will marry, and that most will survive just fine. I promise.
So when I did fall in love and walk down the aisle, it was a gift. An unexpected pleasure.
Do Precious and I need Valentine’s Day to show our affection? No. We try to do that every day in how we care for one another. Preparing a favorite meal, going to Walgreen’s for cold medicine when one of us is sick, noticing a sadness. But nor do we apologize for buying cards, ordering flowers, and sharing a decadent dessert on a certain day in February. Call it consumerist nonsense if you must; we call it love.
2 responses to “A Dozen Roses: In Which a Middle-Aged Goober Defends Valentine’s Day”
I second that emotion, Gwen!