Valentine’s day is a magical time. The price of roses goes up threefold, restaurants become fully booked, shops are full of shitty looking teddy bears clutching equally shitty looking hearts to their poorly stitched chests.
It’s the same thing every year; one group of people look at all the tat and pine away for a real, or imaginary someone, who will provide them with love and romance the likes of which the world has never seen before and never will again, whilst drowning their sorrows in vast quantities of alcohol to make the day pass faster.
Another group spends far too much money on making grand romantic gestures, quite often leaving it late and having to rifle through the leftover crap on the supermarket/petrol station shelves that other valentines have ignored in favour of more extravagant items. They’re the ones rushing around panicking about what to get their loved one, as they must get them something, it’s expected after all, and they’ll be in the doghouse if it isn’t grand/cuddly/expensive/edible enough!
Wow. Talk about emotional blackmail. A whole day where you get to feel shit about love!
I’m lucky. I’m married to an amazing, intelligent, beautiful woman who doesn’t believe in Valentine’s day. We share the belief that you don’t need a special day to tell someone that you love them. You don’t need to buy a bunch of flowers and a cuddly toy either.
So what is love? Buying your chosen one a packet of milk bottle sweets because it’s their favourite. Sending them a text with a link to a funny picture. Letting them have a lie in.
Love is in all the little things that you don’t need to do, but that you choose to do, every day. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a grand gesture or a tiny thing, but if you choose to do something you don’t have to, that’s love.
Happy Valentine’s day everyone.