Back then, I made a point of being bitter about my status
every year, but I've grown up over the past 9 years and, either I've
gained some maturity or I've lost the energy to wallow in self-pity. Who
knows—maybe those are actually the same thing! In any case, I don't
seem to have it in me to muster up much bitterness. In fact, I'm feeling
a little upbeat about the whole thing!
This
year, as soon as it became clear I would be without a lover on the day
of love, I hatched a plan. At first, I intended to go to a Valentine's
Day singles mixer (something I did the last year I was single as well),
but as my weekend before it filled up with events, I realized what I
needed more than anything was just a quiet evening in my own company. I
logged out of the dating apps, turned down all two gentlemen who
requested to see me that day, and planned a date with myself. To use an
entirely hackneyed phrase, I was going to make it a day of self-love.
I
would light all the scented candles in the house and take a shower with
scented shower steamers. I would order a stuffed-crust pizza and eat
cheesecake for dessert. I would cut my hair and epilate my face (because
I've been putting those things off for too long; not because they are
particularly indulgent treats). I would take a silly selfie with my dog.
I would shop online for a gift for myself (a habit I started when I was
single back in the previous decade, and continued even when I was
partnered, because — let's face it — men are terrible at gifts). And I
would do it all in the romantic ambience of my themed living room, which
I had decked out in red-and-purple floral decor as soon as I put my
Christmas decorations away for the year.
Though I was dead-set on having a true Valerie-Times Day—all
by myself and blissfully
free of men (who always seem to disappoint me on this most high-stakes
holiday), somehow one managed to worm his way in. I'll spare you the
agonizing details of what ensued, but it ended with him slinking out my
front door like a wounded puppy, still clutching the bouquet that he'd
thought to bestow upon me.
I could have handled that better.
It's
true I had relished in the idea of a very anti-romantic Valentine's
Day, but I hadn't planned on crushing anyone's heart quite so brutally.
While I still got my much-anticipated evening of solitude, I spent most
of it ruminating about what had gone down and how I could have avoided
it, so it wasn't quite the celebration of singledom I'd hoped for.
The irony doesn't escape me. I'd spent most of my adult life feeling gypped on Valentine's Day—whether because of lack of a man or lack of effort from a man, but this
was the first year ever where I wasn't going to let my happiness be
influenced by men. And yet somehow, at the eleventh hour, my Valentine's Day
was ruined by a man!
At least I still got my cheesecake.
