Valentine's Day of my 26th year.  It has only been 20 minutes so I don't really feel like I'm in it yet.  But here it is, a day in which (apparently) women even send themselves flowers.  How pitiful we are, and I don't mean the women.   How we have made a spectacle of romance, have so charmed ourselves into believing it is the pinnacle that even those watching believe all the hype.  If that is the peak, I want a different mountain to climb.

But I do want to acknowledge the beauty of love.  I watched an old man push his grocery cart to the car today.  In the middle of his canned food and fruit was a big bundle of long-stemmed roses.  I smiled.  A teenager was picking out a teddy bear in the store, laboring over the choices (and there were plenty).  I rolled my eyes.  But I have been her.

Not this year.  No, this will not be a chocolates and hearts February 14th for me (unless someone brings theirs to share at the office).  But just because it isn't mine doesn't mean it isn't someone's.  Alot of someones'.  So to every tenderhearted woman who will be duly touched by an unspontaneous yet sincere affirmation of her value today -- to you I say: happy valentine's day.  (I hope he writes more than just his name on your card.)


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