February 14 has mostly been a non-event in our lives. When we first start dating, there might have been a bouquet of roses and a romantic dinner here and there. But as time went by, we both realised the futility of bankrupting ourselves for a meal and a bunch of flowers that cost three times their usual prices and dropped the celebration altogether.
So we are not really hopeless romantics. Well, I think I can be but I am also a Capricorn, which makes me quite a practical, dull mountain goat.
(Also, we are the couple who celebrated our anniversary at McDonald’s one year. Can’t remember why but we did have a blast.)
This year, I wasn’t expecting anything from husband. Oh sure, I wouldn’t have protested if he had gotten me the lilies that I so love but I wasn’t holding my breath waiting for a delivery.
Instead, the man woke me up with a whispered happy Valentine’s Day and a kiss, and then scrambled out to make breakfast, as he always does on weekdays. I came out of the room to find a fried egg and melted cheese sandwich waiting for me.
Special, he said with a grin.
Before we left for work, he told me to forget about making dinner and that he would pick up something along the way home. Just because he knew I had been having posterior pelvic pain and couldn’t be on my feet for too long.
And how did we celebrate in the evening? Sitting in front of the telly, munching on our favourite Subway sandwiches and watching people die blood-splattered gory deaths in the latest season of Supernatural.
What’s more, he even got me my favourite drink from Gong Cha. Bonus!
We should tweet, he said thoughtfully in between bites, and say that the best thing about Valentine’s Day is eating dinner at home in our underwear and watching TV together.