I don’t like St. Valentine’s.
Actually, it would be more precise to say I don’t care about it. There’re hearts, and balloons, and chocolate everywhere so there’s not much to dislike.
But I don’t care for it.
If you read the legend (HERE is the link to History.com to read all the different legends linked to the Saint and the day) it's all pretty nice, whatever version of it you buy into.
So why I don’t care for it?
Because I feel like it has become a thing you must do. You love your -> insert husband, wife, boyfriend, anyone you hold dear, hence you must celebrate the day. Bring in the flowers, the hearts (lord, I don’t like hearts), pink colors (so, so much pink)…
I’m not into that.
I do believe the utmost, brightest manifestation of the love I have for my husband is when I pick up his socks from around the house and don’t give him too much of a hard time for it. I mean, it’s not like socks are nice after they've put in a solid day of work. I know that he loves me when he realizes I need a moment to myself, and gives it to me.
No fanfare, no discussion. He lets me be.
I like little, quiet things. Small, shy gestures that reach someplace within where emotions wait. I don’t need to go out to dinner. I don’t need flowers exactly on that day, or surprises that are not really surprising.
Don’t get me wrong, I like both.
Once he came home with one red flower. Only one. He said he’d seen it in a field on his way back home, thought about me, and got it because maybe I would have liked it. I did. A lot. To the point of sniffling away a few tears. Another time he texted me the lyrics of Shotgun Rider by Tim McGraw, said he heard it on the radio and made him think about me. Both times, and many others, his actions were random, and instinctual, and honest.
Wait a second here.
Oh, look at that! Those are the reasons why I don’t care for St. Valentine’s: because I don’t feel it’s honest. That being said, I have nothing against it. I’m very much okay with whatever simple thing makes people happy, and the world needs a lot of happy right now.
So go ahead, fill you house with pink flowers that resemble hearts. I’ll help you, if you need a hand. I really will.
But to me, I don’t care for it.
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Beach bum and country music addicted, Viviana lives in a small Floridian town with her husband and her son, her die-hard fans and personal cheer squad. She spends her days between typing on her beloved keyboard, playing in the pool with her boy, and eating whatever her husband puts on her plate (the guy is that good, and she really loves eating). Besides beaching, she enjoys long walks, horse-riding, hiking, and pretty much whatever she can do outside with her family.
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