wild hearts can’t be broken. right?
This could have been me today, only it wasn’t.
With this being my 9117540938th Valentine’s Day as a single lady, it would have been pretty easy for me to be bitter. But I wasn’t. And you know what? I’m proud of that.
I promised myself that this year, I was going to be an adult about it. Shunning Valentine’s Day and wearing black and mocking (and being bitterly sarcastic about) people getting flowers and gifts isn’t cool. Actually, it’s childish. And this year I decided I was going to nut up and let people be happy. And more importantly, I was going to be happy. So I did it. Because I actually like Valentine’s Day, and the hearts and the red and pink and the sentiment behind it — so I did it.
I went and bought the most the most adorable vintage valentines and I handed them out to my coworkers, because they’ve made this year super memorable for me. I did the same for my girlfriends — Rae, Alissa, and Kelsey — because they’ve made me feel more loved and more special than they’ll ever know. They don’t judge me for how many times I say ‘fuck’ in one sentence, and even regard my craziest comments as “funny sound bites”; when actually, 90% of what I say should be ignored and never thought of again.
Before we ate dinner, we went around the table and did Thanksgiving-style announcements about what we loved about life and why. It was silly, and cute, and gave me that feeling of ‘this is exactly where I should be right now’. Long story short: Valentine’s Day isn’t the enemy; at least it’s not mine anymore. I’m always going to be the girl who loves her alone time and prefers dogs to cats and thinks they should bring the Harlem Shake back; and until I find someone worthy of spending Valentine’s Day with all this, I’m happy to spend it with the people that love me in spite of all the above (or because of it).
