What with all the pinkness in the air and the constant ‘Valentine’s Day’ SMSes sent to me by Vodafone everyday, I’ve been in a valentine mood for a while now.
My first valentine was a card from a cousin who lived abroad. She sent all of us cards, including our great-grandmother, and I had those little cards for the longest time. Pretty little Disney expressions of affection.
A decade later, on 14th Feb, I was telling the love-of-my-life-that-was about a gift a friend of mine was getting. He had a bunch of pale pink roses which he explained was a gift for his mother, and he offered me one. It remains one of my sweetest memories, innocent and fulfilling. The next year, when we were an official couple, he was away from home on work, but he sent me cards, two of them because he couldn’t decide on one. I had a hard time explaining them to my parents but was quite chuffed over it all.
And that’s it. The men I dated thereafter didn’t believe in stuff like that. Heck, the first boyfriend himself dissed the day to his wife last year and I bet he’s totally forgotten the stuff he’d done once.
I don’t think I’m at the roses and candy stage myself any longer although roses and candy are both always very welcome, of course. Nor am I waiting for Vicky to serenade me or sweep me off my feet. I think what I really, really want is lots of bhujiya and a big stack of Mills and Boons. The ultimate in romance.
Come now, ‘fess up, what’s your idea of the perfect romantic hour?