Even though I have an amazing husband and a great life with him, I hate Valentine’s Day. The romantic part of the day was ruined years ago. My grandmother (Oma) died on 14 February 2003 after a long courageous battle with ovarian cancer (she made chemo look easy); we were close, so it made it all the more hard, especially when I couldn’t travel to her funeral. The same night, my boyfriend at the time blew off a candlelit romantic champagne night with me for watching the movie “Fight Club” and hanging out in the dorm with his co-worker: a beautiful full-busted blonde. He would eventually leave me for her, but at the time I was so beyond myself lost in the boyfriend….well, that’s another story for another time.
I was single for a lot of them and I stopped caring. I got flowers once from the guy I was dating back in Illinois, but that was just a mere blip on my romantic radar. And not a very good blip at that.
The General treats me so well the other 364 days of the year (he’s my sugar daddy — he brings me random chocolate throughout the year) and we do so much together and for each other, this just seems like a lame attempt of appeasement.
Exactly my point. I put this holiday in the same category as Arbor Day, Casmir Pulaski Day (What’s that? You didn’t attend public school in Illinois? Grab a pierogi and check the link.), Kwanzaa, Secretary’s Day and Flag Day — holidays I don’t celebrate. I would embrace it more if it was a holiday that meant getting the day off. Or even better, time and a half. Otherwise, meh.
Because of our crazy schedules, I haven’t seen The General in days. We found ourselves both off this Tuesday, so we decided to out to dinner. I blame my supervisor on the proximity to Valentine’s Day. Through some random Arby’s-at-midnight conversation, we figured out that today, 15 Feb, I am 352 months old. I always find it amusing when people refer to their kids ages in months when they’re clearly over a year old. So I decided to be equally amusing and see how many months old I was. Tonight is a birthday dinner of sorts.
Speaking of getting older, I do not find Justin Bieber attractive nor do I like his music. I liked him on SNL and I think he’s quite talented, but as 352 month old woman, I just don’t see what the big deal about him is. I suddenly feel like Don Draper on Mad Men when he talks about taking his daughter to a Beatles concert and he’s all ho-hum about it. I don’t like sugary pop music, it grates on my nerves; maybe if Mr. Bieber released a song that was written in a minor key I would like it more. I love a good dirge. I also don’t find him attractive – he’s cute in the way a newborn baby is cute, not cute as in, “Take me now and let me bear your children.” Maybe it’s my love for Led Zeppelin….or maybe I am just getting old to the point of where I roll my eyes at teen sensations.
I’m sporting a few gray eyebrow hairs – like white as snow gray. The General laughs at me. Then again, he’s 132.5 months older than me.