I’ve always secretly loved Valentine’s Day. Not because I’m a big fan of love and mushiness or anything, but because it always gave me a good reason to mope. I looked forward to the day because it was a day where I could lock myself in my room and be gloomy and have a “legitimate” reason for it. It was a day that celebrated couples, and I was single; in theory everyone who wasn’t in a relationship should be bummed. But not me. I love being sullen and whatnot, so it was always great for me. Don’t know why I enjoyed being alone and moody so much, that’s just how I was.
But now in 2009, I’m in a serious relationship, and Valentine’s Day is exactly the opposite of what it used to be. I got home from work and had to work my ass off to get everything cleaned up and dinner prepared in time. I spent the whole night with her instead of being all by my lonesome, and for the first time ever, I had a ton of fun on Valentine’s Day with someone other than myself. We didn’t do much, just had a nice home-cooked dinner, played Rock Band, ate a cake (yes, we ate an entire cake between the two of us), and muddled around on Facebook for a while. It wasn’t fancy or expensive, but it was perfect.
And now I’m sitting here thinking that despite the fact that this V-Day couldn’t be any more different from the old ways, there is one thing that they have in common: both types made me happy, just in different ways.