The Woodlands Biotch

we stayed in. it was by mutual agreement. i’ve been one of those women – the one that seems to think something must be wrong with her that her man doesn’t think to send her a dozen roses on the valentine’s day. and i’ve been on the flip-side of that coin; the one that got so much attention that the jealousy was palpable and the embarrassment was mortifying.

so this was a welcome, refreshing change. no flowers – but not because he didn’t think about it; because i’d told him not to do it and he listened. he’s given me flowers before – he’ll do it again. and they are so much more beautiful and meaningful when on some idle wednesday; some no-reason, just-because-i-saw-them-and-thought-of-you day. no jewelery; but he’s bought me jewels that we’ve picked out together, and in the years to come, he will again.

no – instead, we had another one of our perfect saturdays. we slept in, breakfasted in our pj’s, surfed the net. he ran some errands, i baked his favorite cookies to perfection (if i do say so). later, we went out for an early dinner at the black-eyed pea, a quiet restaurant that seemed immune to the “everyone-go-out-and-impress-your-date” valentine’s day crowd, which was nice because the food was delicious and hot, the meal brought out timely, and we had been seated as soon as we stepped in the door.

we did note, however, that we were quite easily the happiest couple in the entire establishment. of the forty or so other patrons, there were several tables that included three or more women, one or two larger family gatherings, an older couple, a single man, and of the scattered couples we did see, all had at least one child with them. no one else seemed particularly pleased to be there.

except us. because we didn’t care. because we made jokes about the waitstaff and the effervescent girl in the booth behind us, who talked nearly non-stop. we were happy. relaxed. at ease. we ordered the same dish without even discussing it beforehand. finished each other’s sentences.

because after all, there are 364 other days a year to tell the one you love that you love them. and you should. respect every single little tick of a second hand, because each goes away and it never comes back. and if you do that, then you have nothing to prove. and if you have nothing to prove, then you don’t need to make such a fuss over a made-up “holiday.” every day is valentine’s day.