A series of unfortunate Valentine’s

I have never been good at Valentine’s Day. 

When I was 8, I received my first V-Day card from a boy in my class called David.  I hysterically cried, immediately ripped it up, shoved it in my red reading folder and disposed of it on the way home.  Ice queen from the age of 8 onwards?

I actually online stalked David a couple years ago and discovered he is now an Insta-famous bodybuilder who would probably break my neck if I ever ripped up a V-Day card from him now.  If you’re reading this hun, I’ll just dig my own grave for when I’m back.

A few years later, a boy called Grant would proclaim during a Religious Education lesson on Jesus touching the fishes that he was in love with me. God, I remember thinking ‘why couldn’t it have been Josh or Joseph or anyone for that matter?’ Poor dumpling-resembling me.

Valentine’s Day since has always been a… touchy subject, and it honestly has only gotten worse. 

When I was 17, I was taken on my first (and one of my only) Valentine’s dates to my local co-op by a boy to buy bourbon biscuits.  The year before that I went to the gym and fell off a treadmill in front of the entire year above’s rugby team. And, in my first-first year of uni, I replaced a friends fling on a very on-brand, big Village night out after working a room service shift where *nobody* ordered anything for the 8 hour duration. And breathe.

Unsurprisingly, there is actually more, but I think you can gather that V-Day and I are not exactly fast friends.

This year, 2019, is another to add to my long life-list of funny V-Day stories.  I got dumped via text on a hungover 3-hour train journey last week meaning I am actually single for the first time in three years. I also accidentally and unintentionally booked a week-long trip to Madrid over V-Day with my flatmate.

To make it even more of a couples weekend, we are staying at a “Homosexual Oasis”, are potentially seeing Snow Patrol on the big day itself and there is no curtain on our shower or closing doors to our toilet cubicle. It is so funny it actually hurts, I love it.  Poor Andrew.

Whisking myself away from my responsibilities in Rain City and swapping them for sunshine, booze and not being allowed in any of the gay clubs because I am a 5” 3’ girl who looks 16 with no make-up on, sounds delightful. I for one, have never been so excited for a V-Day in my life.

From my lifelong misfortunes, I have gathered that Valentines Day does not have to be romantic.  It isn’t about your childhood sweetheart confessing their current infatuation with you; it isn’t about treating your boyfriend or your girlfriend to a carving of over-priced dead animal meat nor is it hanging about a bar so the bartender will ask you to go home with him.

V-Day for me this year is about cherishing your best mates, sporadically booking a trip abroad for some headspace and spending as much time as possible in the pool or attached to a Mahou. Or both.

It is about laughing until your sides split and waking up joyful and thankful that you have so many bloody good people in your life. 

I think I am just about to have my favourite ever V-Day. Not that it has much competition.

Life is sweet.  I’ll see you when I have a Rushkinoff cough and sunburn.

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