I'm proud to report that I had a really wonderful Vday this year. I'm even prouder to report that this is not solely due to efforts on the part of boy.
Percocet in tow (yes, I'm still on that over a week later), I joined some friends in helping out at a local school. They're getting some floors redone over the February break and needed two classrooms worth of furniture cleared. The task went quickly, aided by the musical genius of one Ms Spears. With floors cleared and time to kill before the lovely gents who are to do the actual work on the floors arrived, we hung out. We discussed things like former teachers, grade school traumas and lack of funds. There was also a bit of horse play and sword fighting to take advantage of the clear floor, but the children don't need to know about that.
The next portion of the day was to be spent celebrating womanhood, bringing awareness to oppression of past and present, taking back Valentine's Day and making it VDay. We moved on to a public room, rented with only a small donation to read from Eve Ensler's best known creation. We didn't limit ourselves to any one year's play. There was no producer to pick and choose for us. The world was our proverbial oyster. We discussed Alanis Morissett's Reclaiming Cunt... And then we talked for an hour. Actually, really, talked. We shared stories that aren't often told. Letting go of what's considered right or brunch talk. We were as too people are too rarely these days, completely honest. Then two readings. And then another hour of talking. Instead of reading crafted words and other people's stories, we told our own. It was refreshing, it was cleansing, it was empowering. Although we didn't put on a performance of the Monologues or even really read them as was originally intended, without purpose or intent, we captured the spirit of the Monologues.
When I got to my apartment, I was instructed not to look in the kitchen, my surprise wasn't ready yet. So I retreated to my room to continue my reading from the T. (A book by a woman very different than Eve and of a different perspective than the previous part of my day seemed to capture) The surprise ended up being half a dozen roses accompanied by cheese fondue and bread with crusts easily removed. Because I could eat it and it was low key. It was perfect.
I was reassured that in years past, my distaste for flowery, showy Valentine's celebrations was not purely the bitter, jealous heart of the chronically single. Not that I think the day should go entirely ignored. I guess I think it's the daily little things or random, surprise, big shows of affection that mean more. I'd be pretty sad if my one hope for romance each year was marked (and marketed) by red hearts and paper cupids adorned, well, everywhere. Even when in the coupled off side of this holiday (and we all know there's sides), I didn't want giant stuffed animals or hearts filled with chocolate or enough flowers to confuse my apartment with a greenhouse. I was reassured because, at least on this front, I'm probably not a hypocrite.
And yes, a piece of me did miss sitting in a dive bar, drinking probably a little too much and dedicating Fat Bottom Girl to a fellow patron with one of my best.