In preparation for writing today, I went back to see what I wrote on Valentine’s Day last year. There were probably only four of you who read it (or my blog in general) back then and understood my thoughts on the “big” day. I do remember being a little grouchy about the whole thing.
I prefer random displays of affection.
Spontaneous anythings on an otherwise nothing day.
Grand gestures? Not necessary.
Plus, I don’t like being told what to do (like celebrating something just because someone say so) but last year my feelings for, arguably, the sweetest day of the year were quickly changed the moment my doorbell chimed in the middle of a purely average day. That memory has been tucked away, with pleasure, since then.
So I woke up this morning, very early I’ll add, to find myself excited for today. It was unexpected because, as I said, this day doesn’t hold any more weight than any other day of the year for me.
I have a confession to make though. I’m also feeling guilty about being excited.
I’ve been asked on a date, a rendezvous for dinner at an Italian restaurant in the city, when we usually stay home and I cook. It’s always exciting to be in the city. It's equally exciting to be on a date.
I bet there will be a heartfelt (more likely inappropriate) card for me with handwritten sentiments inside. I love that.
And I think there will be a gift…
But we don’t “do” gifts for Valentine’s Day.
How do I know this?
I was looking everywhere for the PINK tickets I bought last fall (which I paid $250 each and are not going for $800 a piece) since the concert is quickly approaching. And I looked everywhere. I tore my desk apart. I tore his desk apart. Oops!!!
(I lose things. A lot. This is not a surprise to anyone who knows me or reads my blog. I don’t like it. It stresses me out but it’s me. Part of living with me is knowing and understanding that I spend time almost everyday looking for something (usually important) and it’s gotten worse since I hit my head last summer)
That was yesterday afternoon and I’ve purposely stayed away from the family room, which houses his desk. I’m ignoring it as best as I can because I don’t want to look again to see if it’s gone.
What if it’s like in the movie “Love Actually” where Emma Thompson’s character finds a necklace in her husband’s coat pocket and gets a CD instead for Christmas?
What if that happens to me?
What if he took it to work for someone else (the silver box from a store he doesn’t usually frequent but has lots of things I love) and at dinner he only pulls out a card?
That’s why I’m feeling guilty. I busted his surprise. It was a mistake. No, REALLY!!!
Obviously, I know it’s for me (it’s gorgeous). It is a wonderful, unexpected gesture that means something to him. He will want me to be surprised and just as excited. He knows I don't/won't expect anything.
I want his eyes and his heart filled with anticipation and excitement as he presents me with the box. I don’t want to burst that bubble or see his disappointment that I found it ahead of time.
I’ll be doing the right thing by not saying anything, right?
|wallpapersdb.org (This looks blissful, doesn't it?)|
Have a fantastic day. However you choose to spend it.