Well, I mean, not unless you count third grade when everyone was required to bring in those little valentines that you wrote to everyone in your class. Of course, I made sure to give the cutest card with the puppy to the people I actually liked, and I would tape the BEST chocolate (krackel, of course) from the Hershey's grab bag that my mom had bought, onto the valentine. And if I really liked you, I would outline the card with glitter glue. Oh yeah, if you were my friend, you got nothing but the best.
Third grade. Those were the days. I'd go home with my brown paper bag full of cards and chocolate and conversation hearts that tasted like chalk, and eat myself into a sugar oblivion. Oh, Valentine's Day, 1992. I had thirty-three valentines, and they thought I was a tweet-tart, or wanted to BEE mine. And if not them, at least Scooby-Doo would say, "I love youuuuuu."
Yet, somewhere along the way, some girls started expecting flowers from the boys, fancy dinners and nights out on the town. They wanted a fairy tale ending, and didn't care that you didn't have a fairy godmother to make it all happen for them, no matter how much you wished you could. They wanted a red carpet made out of rose petals, and a happily ever after, damnit.
I was one of those girls until James.
James was a pretty all-around talented guy. He played the piano impeccably well and he could sing and he composed songs. Really good songs. Songs that would make you fall in love with him. And he claimed to be a fantastic cook, and he would make these amazingly intricate sculpture-kinda things out of our organic chemistry molecule sets. Go ahead and laugh, but let's face it, at the end of the day, I'm still a huge nerd inside and out.
Anyhow, I had HUGE expectations for Valentine's Day. So, February 10th rolled around and I started hinting at the big V-day.
Michelle: Hmmmmmmmm, gee I wonder why everything is pink this week!
James: Duh, it's for Valentine's.
Michelle: Oh, hm. Speaking of which...are we doing anything?
James: Uh, no.
Michelle: WHAT? Seriously?
James: I need to do laundry that night.
Michelle: [laughing] Oh, stop.
James: No, I'm serious.
I was pretty convinced he was planning to surprise me. And so I busted out my chef's hat and baked him a brownie cake. Let me just say, it was amazing. Frosted and made with organic raspberries. It even had icing. True, maybe you couldn't read what the icing said, but you know, that was part of the fun!
Anyways, I digress. The night sucked. I showed up at his apartment in my prettiest red dress, with this cake of love, and he answered the door in his pajamas. Turns out we really were just studying. (And yes, he actually did do his laundry.)
Since then, I've had absolutely no expectations for Valentine's Day.
But one year, I had a Date. An actual pick-you-up-at-six-I-made-reservations-for-6:30 kind of date. When I opened the door, I couldn't see my date's face, because the bouquet was so gigantic. It was one of those dates where you saw everything through rose-colored glasses. Walked on air. And even though it was freezing and I was wearing open-toed strappy sandals, I didn't feel anything but happy.
The thing is, after the date came and went, I realized a couple of things. True, the food was fabulous, and the flowers were gorgeous, but what really made my night was the company. We had the best seat in the house, but I barely looked out the window. I couldn't wipe my smile off my face. I was tingly.
I was tingly because this someone went to all these extremes to show me that they cared. Even though he didn't need to.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. A girl just wants to know that you care.
And the thing is, even if we had just stayed at home to watch TV, or make dinner together, or something less extravagant, I think I would have had just as great as a time. Because I would still have known that I meant something to someone.
And that is the best feeling in the world. Knowing you're special. That someone really does want you to be theirs.
Not going to lie, the glitz and the glamor of a five-star restaurant are pretty fantastic. But the real fantastic thing - the real thing that matters - is the company.
That night probably ruined all future Valentines' Days for me. But it was great. And I'm smiling right now, just remembering it.
Thanks for the memories.
