P cursed me this morning as I ripped the duvet away from him and danced away with it. And yet as I skipped out of the door to work (sans duvet of course) he sleepily uttered the most romantic compliment I have ever received. ‘I couldn’t live without you, or sleep, so I’m going back to bed because you are going to work.’ It admittedly doesn’t sound overly gushing, but the offhand-ness of the ‘I couldn’t live without you’ really hit a chord. He meant it.
This is why I don’t understand Valentine’s Day. I like romance to be just that….romantic, and to me that means unexpected, off the cuff and when he means it.
The staff room was full of Valentine’s Day worry yesterday exuding from the guys I work with, panicking about what to get their wives/girlfriends. They seem to think I’m some kind of weird woman, as I’m just not bothered about it.
P & I didn’t even exchange cards. I don’t need a piece of patterned paper from Hallmark from P to tell me how much he loves me, he does that by getting undressed in the hallway when I’ve gone to bed early so he doesn’t wake me.
For me, love and romance isn’t about heart shaped champagne flutes and glitter covered undies, it’s the little things P does to go out of his way to make my life better. Like having a cup of tea ready for me as I walk in the door from work and eating a meal that has gone terribly wrong, despite it’s disgusting taste. It’s coming on holiday with my family, despite the fact he’ll know it won’t really be a holiday due to the chaos of my relatives.
It’s running me a bath when I feel sick, it’s absentmindly rubbing my legs whilst he’s playing playstation, it’s leaving me alone with my favourite TV programmes, it’s dealing with my weight obsession after watching ballet.
The things he does every day, sometimes without even thinking is why he is my valentine 24/7. And why I don’t want to limit romance to just one day of the year.