I know. That’s totally “un-romance author” of me, isn’t it? Romance and love are supposed to be what we eat and drink to stay alive. According to some publications we’re supposed to have uber-frilly bedrooms, walk around in a silky come-hither pegnoirs and wear those high-heeled slippers with the feathery fluff on top. (See? I don’t even know what they’re called.)
Well, friends, I am a romance author and I have two words for you — pajama pants. I love my pajama pants. Combined with the perfect old, washed-many-times sweater and some big, fluffy socks, they make the perfect writing outfit to wear all day. Glamour? Zee glamour has left the building. Actually, it was never in the building.
My bedroom is designed for comfort — not romance. It’s designed for my husband and I to get a good night’s sleep, snoring among the five cats also sharing the bed. Did I mention the German Shepherd/Husky mix on the doggie bed in the corner?
But other than having people presume that because I’m a romance author I know of all things romantic and Valentine Dayish, I don’t like V Day because, well, have you ever met a day more perfectly designed to make singletons feel like crap? Or a day better set up to throw a spotlight on the shortcomings of some relationships?
And pity the poor guy who merely forgets the flowers.
Then there are the people who say something along the lines of, “Oh, we don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. That’s just a made up holiday created by the greeting card company.” Pish. Posh. *dismissive wave of hand* Some of them really mean it and I believe them. (A few of them.) The rest are all saying that while glancing out the corner of their eye in hopes of getting a Valentine from someone.
Ugh. Valentine’s Day should be renamed Insecurity Day.
Then there are couples like my friends who plan out what they’re going to do for months beforehand, carefully choosing the perfect gift to give their sweetie. They genuinely love seeing their beloved’s eyes light up at the object of their desire being pulled from a red box and wrapped in red tissue paper. They go out to dinner, celebrate their relationship, gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes over candlelight and glasses of champagne. The day after Valentine’s Day, they start planning for the next one.
Me? How do I feel about Valentine’s Day? We don’t celebrate it. (But if my husband forgets the flowers, his ass is grass.)
How do you feel about V Day? Are you a fan or a detractor?