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This year, like most years I was dreading the great big V-day. I usually despise the day and I know what you’re thinking, but no. It’s not because I’m single, bitter, or heartbroken. Nor do I have a vendetta against Hallmark or any other company profiting from said holiday (although I do roll my eyes at every Kay jewelry commercial because every kiss certainly does not begin with them). I have been in relationships and hated Valentine’s Day; I have been single and hated Valentine’s Day.
Even in grade school I dreaded the day because the anticipation of getting (or not) a silly cartoon-stamped card with a lollipop attached simply made me anxious. There was a clear correlation of Valentines to popularity, which I floated somewhere safely in the middle.
So why have I been so content in hating Valentine’s Day, you wonder? Well, I guess it’s because I’ve never really had someone make it special….until yesterday :)
Completely unexpected, like something out of a RomCom, Cupid took aim with his best armour-piercing arrows and I, for the first time, had an amazing Valentine’s Day. Two weeks ago if you would have told me I would be writing about the wonder of the day I would have laughed. The story is one, like an urban legend, when you hear it you instantaneously think “that will never happen to me.” Well ladies hold onto your Bloody Marys because when you least expect it, something wonderful can happen.
