Yesterday was Valentine's Day . . . or as I sometimes call it, the Day of Disappointment.
I think part of my problem with Valentine's Day is that I am a frustrated romantic. I would love to receive a beautiful card, decadent dark chocolates, a floral bouquet (no red roses please, too funereal) or maybe a bottle of Riesling. Any one of those typical Valentine's gifts would be great. But my husband doesn't roll that way.
He remembered that it was Valentine's Day; he wished me a Happy Valentine's Day, and when I suggested that maybe we could have take-out from Chipotle for dinner, he agreed. So at least the day wasn't just a run-of-the-mill Monday. But it also wasn't a special, once a year lovers' holiday -- at least not the kind that I envision in my dreams.
Some dreams die hard, but it could be worse.
Today I read this.
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