So my calendar informs me that next week is valentines day, which is possibly the only way I would have otherwise known. I’m a bit of a sceptic about the whole V-Day myself. You know commercialism and all that stuff, and I don’t need to get presents on the 14th of February to know that Boatman loves me.
But the truth of the matter, is I find it rather sad.
Would you like to hear a heartbreaking story?
Good. I thought so.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl.
Ok not that little, more like this:
So once upon a time there was a teenage girl who always considered herself an ugly duckling. I don’t know why she had made that assumption; I think because she was surrounded by beautiful friends, and she was fairly average in herself.
She also had no confidence in the whole ‘boy/girl’ thing. She was a bleeding heart romantic who would practice her ‘married’ signature every time she had a crush, and the boys didn’t seem to appreciate that so much. Not that she told them mind you, but looking back, I guess it would have been kind of obvious.
These things usually are.
Still she lived in hope, that one day, someone might find her beautiful, someone might return her affection, and someone might want to see her practiced signature.
This hope was never more paramount than on Valentines Day. The one day of the year when those genetically blessed friends of hers would recieve a single rose from a beau, or maybe a card. The ocassional teddy. It was the day when random admirers would hide thoughtful gestures in lockers, and giddy girls would guess at their identity. It was a day that seemed magical and full of promise and mystery.
And yet it always dissappointed.
Not once did the flowers come her way, or the card, or the teddy.
Not once did anyone look at her and see what she hoped they might. She was forever a plain jane wall flower. The girl next door. Doomed to a life of fading into the background.
A few years down the road, and into our story enters a knight in shining armour. He was initially the attractive teller from the bank, and a fantastic reason to want to save every penny the girl earnt.
One day, by some miracle, this handsome fellow noticed her, and not saw who she was on the inside, but found all the parts on the outside highly appealing too.
And he even offered to give her his surname.
It was a match made in heaven.
The only problem was, the sexy Boatman, as he would forevermore be known, was highly practical, and saw no need in embracing the archaic commercial tradition of valentines day. So although the girl was satisfied in every area with her obvious soul mate, she still never recieved a gift come February 14.
And she was ok with that.
She never had before, and like I said earlier, it all did seem very commercial.
Until once day.
That day, was yesterday.
A normal day as far as normal goes. She cleaned, and blogged and looked after her children, and then she was rewarded by this:
12 dozen red roses in the most beautiful glass, square vase she had ever seen.
Who was it from?
Her husband? Highly unlikely seeing his lack of funds
A secret admirer? Maybe someone else had fallen for her?
Or someone else? Though who, she had no idea.
The true romantics themselves, Interflora.
The people she had longed to receive gifts from for as long as she had known of this day, and yet who had never paid heed until now. (Or rather had never been paid to deliver them.)
And then they really went all out.
So now, the somewhat jaded girl, turned woman does not think that it’s a day of commercialism any more. Not at all. Looking at the beauty of those roses, sitting on her kitchen bench, as she goes about the mundane tasks of her day, makes her once again believe in magic, and mystery and beauty.
Overall beauty. And not just in the flowers, also in her self as well.
I guess you could call it a Valentines Day Miracle.
So the moral of this rather woeful tale, if ever there was one is simply this.
PS. Obviously the girl was me.
PPS Seriously, my faith in Valentines Day has been completely restored.
PPS There should ALWAYS be flowers. I don’t care how commercial it is. Girls are pretty and should have pretty things.