(The following is a reprint of my Valentine’s Day post two years ago.)
It’s Valentine’s Day. Big whoop. I’m not celebrating, not involved, not doing it.
If I had a significant other, I would be, of course. I’m a hopeless romantic in every sense of the word. Hopeless. Utterly. Or I used to be. When it comes to romantic love, well, let’s just say I think I’ve been cured. Fat female hermits of a certain age are perfectly situated to never, ever have another romantic encounter.
My dad announced, shortly after his second marriage at age 86 and less than a year after my mom died, that “love is a disease.” That may have been not long after I too had jumped blindly into a second, very short-lived marriage. I have to agree with my dad’s observation. He and I both did some crazy, ill-considered things in the throes of “love,” or in the throes of the emotional crises that precipitated the “love.”
Nevertheless, for those of you who do have a genuine romantic interest in a significant other … nice going!! Now make sure you’ve done or plan to do something appropriately romantic and Valentiney for that person. Because there’s not enough love in the world and where it exists, it deserves recognition and celebration!