I haven’t enjoyed Valentine’s Day since I was 10 years old
The month of love has officially arrived and Valentine’s Day is within a week. Yesterday I told my boyfriend that he will have to ask Me to be his Valentine’s Day, and that it is not necessarily a fact that I will say yes.
“I will have a lot of options, you see,” I told him.
I warned it that there would be a multitude of men exploding my DMS with sincere declarations of love and admiration.
“Who am I to reject their efforts?” In fact, should I bring together all my eligible singles and organize a game where they can fight you for my love? Anyone who wins, I will run like my Valentine’s Day. “”
He ignored me, so I continued to taunt him.
“They sometimes even write to me poems.”
“It’s good for you,” he replied calmly.
Ugh! I always try to make it jealous and it never works. My boy is a kind of man from top to bottom and that is why we work: there is simply no space for two Chaotic and chaotic mental cases obsessed with love, obsessed with love in the relationship. So I play this role, and he plays the role of my soothing beef.
We will not be physically together on February 14, but I don’t care. The above could lead you to assume that I lie, but I am not. Not because I am a cool, relaxed, relaxed, little-maintained, pick-me girlfriend. Believe me, I am not one of these things (I am almost in maintenance as high as possible), but Valentine’s Day does not do so for me, it is a burden of Bollocks of Public Relations.
I love love. But I like good love, authentic, daring, sometimes exhausting. I don’t like the brilliant, offense, superficial, superior, Rom-Com,. Valentine’s Day is like a birthday, it is generally an anti-climax, especially when aging. However, the world gives you the impression of spending the day in a state of euphoria. The wait is simply too high, so that no gift wrapped in ribbon could never be good enough, no shower of affection or candlelit dinner will never satisfy, because the bar takes place at makeup.
With hindsight, I never really enjoyed a single Valentine’s Day. I was in fifth year and I had a crush on a boy called Josh Kilder. When the big day rolled, the hours passed slowly. The other girls in my class had been presented with plastic bracelets and chocolate bars of their crushing, but Josh had not yet offered a smile. I was deeply upset. But at the end of the day, when I went to collect my bag of homework, I noticed something out of the top. It was an envelope with an unbalanced heart attracted on it in a touch of red felt. It was so wobbly and stamp, I knew it could only be pulled by a boy. My heart was beating a mile per minute. I opened the envelope with all the urgency of the woman of a soldier who endured six months without correspondence:
