In fact, I'm kind of offended when people don't.
(MORE THAN KIND OF.)
(THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE EXPLANATION FOR HATING VALENTINE'S DAY IS THAT YOU ARE AN ATHEIST, IS WHAT I'M SAYING.)
Anyway, I don't love Valentine's Day in an "I have a Valentine" kind of way. (I mean, I know. I have a Valentine. We've been together for 9 years. That isn't about rubbing it in or whatever. It's just a given.) But we don't do things for Valentine's Day. No gifts. No dinners. Nothing special.
No, I love Valentine's Day in an "elementary school" way. Remember when everybody put little paper valentines with cartoon animals on them that said things like "You're beary special!" and "Will you BEE my valentine?" in the homemade "mail box" taped on the front of your desk? And the awesome kids taped candy to said paper valentine.
Those were GOOD DAYS.
Also good days? These.
Because I scribbled "Love, your Valentine until 2087"* once on a note to Jack once, probably about eight years ago or so. And so far? That was a fantastic choice.
Because even though Jack and I usually do nothing, nothing at all, nothing ever for Valentine's day? I woke up to this this morning:
There aren't adequate words to describe to you how much he does not cook. Cooking? Not his thang.
But somehow, I was late for work because I was eating bacon (that I did not cook!) in bed with a boy and a dog.
It's going to be a good 75 more years with this Valentine.
*After 2087? I have full license to get a new Valentine. Especially since he'll be 109 years old at that point. I mean, come on. I'll still be a hot 102.