Or: Happy Valentine’s Week, Y’All

Lots of people hate Valentine’s Day. They say it’s silly and commercial, and obviously just another cog in the capitalist, consumerist machine. Not me, though. I’ve always liked Valentine’s Day*.
*And it’s glorious follow-up holiday, 75% Off Heart-Shaped-Chocolate Day. It comes every February 15, and I celebrate it religiously.

I confess to my hopeless romanticism. And also I like to hug big plush hearts.

I think it’s nice that we set aside a day to show the ones we love that they’re appreciated – whether it’s a significant other, friends or family members. It’s like celebrating someone on their birthday. Once you strip out all the materialistic expectations, it’s all about designating one day to be aware of the one you love, romantically.** And that’s sweet.
**Or the ones you love platonically. Or familial-ly. It’s all about love, people.

But it’s never really been a day that’s gone right for me. On that note, I’d like to introduce you to Captain Romantic. We were together through the senior year of college, and for two years after.

This is not stated with much enthusiasm.

Tah-Dah.

We were together for two years when this particular Valentine’s Day came around. I knew, of course, that he wasn’t a terribly romantic guy. So this time, our second Valentine’s Day together, I decided that if I wanted romance, I could make it happen myself. I hurried home from work, rescued the present I’d wrapped, and set to work making his favorite meal for dinner.

Check out all that enthusiasm! Romance is in the air! For sure!

I was excited – it was the first time I’d gone out of my way to try something romantic.

Ok, I may have let him unwrap the present BEFORE I declared what it was.

Things seemed to be going well. I was still in my domesticated phase of life***, and nothing had burned – not even the dessert. The place was pretty, and everything fit in my budget. I felt like the master of romance and was so happy to see Captain Romance smile at everything I’d done.
***That point in time when I cooked dinners and washed dishes and didn’t have all the local delivery numbers memorized. It was a tough time.

Everything is more romantic in an apron.

After dinner, he pulled out a gift for me.

With these exact words. Please keep these words in mind.

I was excited. A token of his feelings? That was possibly the most romantic thing Captain Romantic had ever said to me. The packaging didn’t stand a chance. I had that thing open in a blink.

I am not making this up, people.

It was a toaster.

For toasting bread.

Seriously. I’m good at reading between the lines and all, but toasters and feelings together in the same present is just confusing.

I did not regularly complain of my lack of toaster. My roommate had a toaster oven, enabling all of my bread-toasting needs. But Captain Romantic was so pleased – my kitchen did not have a toaster, and he had noticed, and he gave me one to remedy the situation.

Because that is the type of romance I enjoy in my life.