My Valentine

I am such a softy.  I have just finished watching last year’s Oprah Valentine’s Day special (I know, I know, completely tragic) and I have been crying for a good half hour.  The end of the show (where Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey sang ‘Take My Breath Away’ as a duet) had me in hysterical howls.  You know the Brigitte Jones type, where you are uncontrollably throwing yourself around the room grabbing hold of cushions, children, pet cats, anything that you can clutch at and sob ‘I Love You So Much’ into their softness.  Thankfully my son is asleep, so the poor old cushions got the I Love You treatment.

Now, I must tell you that I am single, but were I not; I would still have displayed the above behaviour.  You see I, am a romantic.  I can hear all who know me gasping out loud in shock.  Yes, it’s true, beneath my zany, independent, don’t-mess-with-me exterior, lurks a wilting Dirty Dancing type (the movie not the moves).  I fantasise about my very own Tom Cruise, singing You’ve Lost That Lovin' Feeling to me in a crowded bar, or Patrick Swayze saying, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner!” about me.  The fact that I never go to bars and am home tucking my son into bed while most happening people are heading out, is completely beside the point.  I want the dream, the Hugh Grant film, the Love God, sky-writing messages of adoration across the skies. 

In my (somewhat limited) experience (although I have been known to say, that like Joan Collins, my hobby is collecting husbands), real life is not nearly so remarkable.  I’m sure that romance exists; it’s just finding it that really gets under my skin.  Mr Average, Mr You’ll Do, Mr You Don’t Repulse Me, Mr Nice Abs Shame You Can’t String A Coherent Sentence Together and my personal favourite, Mr Perfect But Not Ready To Be A Father Yet, have all made appearances in the past.  It’s enough to make a girl shut up shop and put a sign in the window that says, ‘Closed for Business!  Knight in Shining Armour Wanted.’  Romance can’t be dead, can it?  If so, wouldn’t florists go out of business, Hallmark cards cease to exist and Tiffany rings become a thing of the past?  

Today I received the following e-mail from my good friend Angela:

“Happy Valentine’s Day my friend, I hope that Z has planned something special for you and is being a really good boy (he’s four, what are the chances?).  Meggie (her six year old daughter) is arriving home to sandwiches and fairy bread in the shape of love hearts and love heart chocolates scattered over the dining table.  I, on the other hand, am at work and will arrive home to washing up.”

And that’s the way it goes.  Whether you are single, married, partnered up, or somewhere in between, this is the story of our lives once we become parents.  Romance finds its way to us along a different path.

I’ve decided that romance exists in everyday life, in the smile of my child, in my regular goss sessions (over coffee and much cake) with girlfriends, in the phone call from my Mum (to just say “Hi”) and most definitely in the gleam from the heel of my new stilettos.  A girl's gotta have shoes.  Romance is inside us, within our very beings.  We don’t need an over-the-top idealistic gesture to make us feel loved.  Pour another glass of wine and shout “Here’s cheers to the saga of life!” where love always makes more than a guest appearance and all the romance I need is right here, in the form of an excitable four year old.

Me and my Valentine