My sister is a Valentine's day scrooge. Weird, since she's a total sap (sorry Dami, you know it's true) - she'll cry at just about any movie, likes roses, touchy-feelyness, romance, and is pretty dang affectionate in general. Plus, she's in a relationship. Still hates Valentine's day. None of the former really apply to me, yet I love Valentine's day.
I've never been in a relationship for V-day. I'd just broken up with someone a week or two before, years ago - he pulled into the alley of my apartment complex, left a rose and card, intending to knock and ditch. I lived on the third floor, and opened the door to hear him thunder down the last stairs and watch as he realized he'd locked his keys in his still-running car. I drove him to his house for the spare, we laughed about it.
Valentine's day wasn't a couple's affair in our house. Mom, sis and I would leave messages and doodlings on bathroom mirrors, and we'd get a vase of flowers just because. In high school, my seminary teacher (who is now my uncle-in-law, if that is possible) had us make BARF bags. Like their grade school inspiration, these would be filled with candy and cute notes. BARF stood for "Be A Real Friend," and it was a pleasant, thoughtful exchange. Usually.
Today was delightful. My girlfriends and I went ice skating, ate delish home-made chili, and dark chocolate. No make-up, no pressure, no nonsense. The company of good friends I already know and love, good food and fun conversation.