Valentine’s Day Eve


And I’m rocking out in my polka dot frock.

Sitting home on my Friday night with my hot cup of tea and some house music on the stereo.

Ready, I am, for the weekend.

I don’t mind so much that it’s Valentines Day tomorrow and all the ladies and lads in the land are traipsing about with flowers in hand.

Oh.

I had a moment or two.

A girl likes Valentines Day.

Even the bittersweet of not having a Valentine.

I love the colors and sparkle and the people who are dashing about with flowers or balloons in their hands.

I love seeing the different folks, who on a regular day I wouldn’t think are coupled up, go about with bouquets in their hands.

I just like flowers.

I take that back, I love flowers.

I only got them once in the last relationship.

I would like more of those please, in the future, note to all future dates.

Pink gerber daisies were the flowers my ex left for me on the seat of my scooter when I was still at work.

They were sweet, but a trifle too little too late and a bit too obligatory.

I got the impression that he felt he had to.

It was a significant day for me, a day that I was celebrating 10 years of sobriety.

The funny thing was, I would have rather have had his company that day, instead of the flowers left like an anonymous ghost of a relationship that was already a bygone.

I felt it was a big deal, that day,  big date, and on the other hand, it’s just another day, but a girl wants her significant other around for those days.

I really knew it was over at that point and it was just going through the motions.

I threw the flowers out a few days later.

I haven’t had any since.

It’s been four weeks.

One month.

The relationship was a little over two months.

Some say, who, how the hell do I know, but they, the infamous they, say, it takes half as long to get over the relationship as it took being in it.

That seems the case.

I am done thinking about it and willing to move on.

It may sting the next few times I bump into my ex but that’s going to fade and I know that it will and really, let me tell you, I’m tired about writing about him.

I will say I should trust my gut better the next time I pre buy a gift when I have doubts about a relationship.

I bought my ex a Valentines day gift the week we broke up.

Maybe, in hindsight, I might have been trying to out juju the Gods, make some magic happen, rub a little gold duck, and poof, the arrow Cupid shot would stay put.

Not fall out the other side, broken shaft and bloody feathers.

I saw it, the golden duck, and knew it was the thing to get.

My ex had a thing for rubber ducks and had quite a few, including a rubber duck tattoo.

So when I saw bronze duck with gold gilding I knew I had to get it for him, but I also heard the whisper in my heart that said, you know, you might not make it to Valentines Day.

And sure enough.

The relationship did not last.

The night we broke up, four weeks ago, around this exact time, I packed up a paper bag and handed him the two disposable razors I had bought him to have in the house, the two bottles of hazelnut creamer he liked, some other toiletries, and the duck.

I pulled it out and jokling callled it the parting gift.

I didn’t tell him that I had planned on giving it to him on Valentines Day.

I walked past the shop today where I bought it and I didn’t think of him.

I thought how happy I was in the sunshine in my polka dot halter dress and my hair up off my neck, I looked at my reflection in the store window and smiled at myself.

I look pretty.

I walked on, pushing the stroller to the park.

I had a date with two little boys and a very large container of bubbles.

I laughed out loud with joy and incredularity at my life.

It’s February, I’m in a sundress blowing bubbles in the park and the sun is warm and everyone is rushing about carrying flowers and I live in San Francisco and how amazing is it?

Beauty and love everywhere.

I don’t have to be coupled up to appreciate people showing each other love.

It’s sort of like Christmas or any other holiday, I can appreciate love and gifts and joy all year round, I don’t need a specifiic holiday to sanctify my feelings.

But.

That being said.

I still really enjoy witnessing the love around me.

The mason jars filled with sweetheart pink roses and the white spray of baby’s breath being sold on the corner, the accordian player at the cafe dressed in sailor’s strips and wearing red lipstick dancing with her beau while he played the harmonica, the men, old, young, everywhere, holding bouquets of tuber roses and carnations and lilies, the smiles on the women, the little girls with heart shaped red Valentines day balloons, the children at the playground with their paper bags decorated with pink and red and rose and white cut out hearts filled with candy hearts and valentines from school mates.

This may be the first time I felt so much love for a holiday that has been notoriously riotous and emotional for me.

I thought I might be sad and the truth is that I am not.

I am joyous.

Filled with love for myself.

Not that I need a holiday to celebrate my life either.

Not that I need to do the trite dance of being my own Valentine either, I just don’t have to try that hard.

I’ll be getting dressed up tomorrow, just like I do every other day of my life, for no particular reason other than it’s going to be a beautiful day to wear a dress and be pretty for me.

I may get myself flowers.

Or I may just wear flowers in my hair.

It is San Francisco after all.

And flowers are De rigueur.

 

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