flaming heartAt some point in the relationship, every man I’ve ever gone out with has looked at me sadly and concluded “You aren’t very romantic, are you?”

I am not. I am loving and funny and loyal. But romance has never been my thing.

Hearts and flowers? Strolling hand-in-hand? Candle lit dinners for two?

No thanks.

Love at first sight? Not for me.

In contrast, the very first time my sister met her future husband, she knew that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She was just 18.

Larry was, undeniably, a catch. Nice. Adorable. Sane. Stable. Jewish.  Not to mention Harvard Pre Med.

But still…

“You’re so young!” I told my sister.  “Have fun! Shop around.”

“I don’t need to shop around,” she said.

Apparently not. They just celebrated their 34th wedding anniversary.

This is a fabulous achievement and they’re my favorite married couple. And yet, going through life yoked to another person like that, no matter how wonderful that person might be, is my personal idea of hell.

I’ve always been this way.

When the other little girls were drawing pictures of bridal gowns in their school notebooks and dreaming about Mr. Right, my dream was to grow up, live on my own in a fabulous Manhattan penthouse and write books. (Except during my Emma Peel “Avengers” phase, when I wanted to grow up, chase villains with a debonair partner and effortlessly throw bad guys  across the room.)

Here’s how un-romantic I was: after “Snow White” aired on “The Wonderful World of Disney” and all my 12-year-oldpals were singing “Some Day my Prince Will Come,“  I refashioned the lyrics so they’d apply to me.

 “Someday my prince will come,” I sang, “ and I’ll tell him to f**k himself.”

Despite all of this, as a child, I adored Valentines Day.

Every year my sister and I spent hours crafting hand-made Valentines from every art supply we could get our hands on. Each was a personalized work of art. If your pal Suzie loved Barbies, you’d draw them on her Valentine. Patty was into horses? You’d festoon her Valentine with Palimino stickers. Doug, who loved “Mad” Magazine, got an Alfred E. Newman Valentine. For our very best friends, we’d compose poems of the “Roses are red/violets are blue“ variety.

On Valentine’s Day, the class took turns going around the room delivering valentines to each other. Then we opened them.

What a great moment! Glittering store-bought cards. Elaborately crafted hand-made cards.  Vintage old timey Valentines. Dozens of little heart-shaped candies.  Poems and notes and messages from  your best friends. Sprinkle-covered heart-shaped cookies. Pink-iced cupcakes.

It was something I looked forward to all year. But it wasn’t about romance. What did we know about romance? We were in elementary school. Instead, for us, it was a celebration of friendship.

When we hit junior high, Valentine’s Day  stopped being about Good Friends and began being about True Love. And I stopped caring about it.

Mark, the man in my life, is more romantic than I am (Everyone is.) He’s also smart enough to realize that,  as wonderful as he is, I’m never going to wake up one morning,  look deeply into his eyes, and start singing “You are so beautiful to me.”

But we do exchange tokens of our affection on Valentines Day.

Because he’s an artist, and bookish, I’ll get him a pricey art book I know he wants but is too frugal to buy himself. And, because he’s an artist, he makes me a gift —  a painting, a collage or a hand-crafted, three dimensional piece.  Something creative and unique, just for me.

Which, come to think of it, is a lot like those hand-made Valentines I so loved as a kid.

So, with Mark, perhaps, I’ve come full circle.

And yet, I sometimes think about trying to reclaim the joy I used to feel on Valentine’s Day. Why does it have to be exclusively about Romantic Love? Why can’t those of us who just aren’t into that emotion (or who are between partners) be inspired by our grade school selves and celebrate, instead,  the friends we love?

Not that I plan to go around handing out glittery hand-made construction paper hearts to all my pals. (Although, perhaps I should.)

I’m thinking of going with something even more outside the box. I’ve consulted the Heifer International website (http://www.heifer.org/) and see that I can express my appreciation for our friendship on this special day by purchasing a llama for a third world family in your name.

Or, if we’re not quite that close, how about a hen?

We non-romantic types can start a new Valentine’s Day tradition! While others exchange romantic gifts and walk hand-in-hand on a moon lit beach, the rest of us can say “I’m so glad you’re my friend!” and exchange celebratory poultry.

Roses are red/violets are blue/I’m so glad we’re pals /here’s a chicken for you!

Happy Valentines Day.

(This essay first appeared on www.womensvoicesforchange.org)

Valentine’s Day When You’re Not Into Being Romantic was last modified: by

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