The Big V..

Before I even begin I would like to aplogise for whatever may come out of my mouth (well fingers technically) tonight. For a start, I’m more than a little intoxicated following a bottle of champagne (is that just not a gift from the angels or what?), and am embarrassed to say still I’m staring goofily at flowers. (whilst quaffing the bottle of champers that was magically hiding in my fridge)

There are a few things you need to know about me and V Day. (actually, there are few things I shouldn’t tell you, but being pissed I’m bound to spill it to the world regardless)

Number one, when I wrote it had been four years since I got on with the 'Big V' I lied.

I know, shoot me down, why I thought four sounded better than seven I don’t know (is there EVER any method in my logic?) Call it vanity. Meh…. whatever. I’m drunk typing to a laptop, I’ve probably lost all street cred here anyway.

So it’s actually been seven years. Now don’t get me wrong. I haven’t been celibate all those years (tune out family) I just haven’t actually been seeing anyone over the actual V day, or spreading random acts of kindness with anyone that would think to send me anything, or that I would feel the need to send anything in return too either. (Last year was a corker though. See Valentines Day post a couple down) and I was determined I was going to ignore this holiday for the rest of my days.

This wasn’t hard really, as even in the past when I have been seeing people I really wasn’t hugely into the day. Call my cynical maybe, no, wait.... just call me honest. I really have been of the belief that it’s the little things that count.

From all my relationships (again, I lie, the handful that I would actually call relationships I mean) I have only ever been impressed by the little things. Someone looking after me when I’m ill, running a bath when they know I’ve had a rough day, taking a day off work to sit outside a doctors surgery….. that to me is romance. Not flowers or chocolate, or serenading love songs. (for the record though, as long as I live should you ever play a Celine Dion song near me I may be forced to charge at you with a sharp steak knife) but I digress, what I’m trying to say is, I suppose I’m not impressed easily.

Due to the fact I had been communicating daily with man henceforth known as “nice boy”, (shite, as I typed this I just spilt champagne in the bed....should nice boy know this, I’m pretty sure he would re-nig on the roses) (ps – is it just my drunken mind, -or would re-nig on the roses make just a super country song?) Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so I’m communicating daily with nice boy, thinking how nice he was and how I would really like to smooch the bejesus out of him (once again, not sure who bejuses is, or why I threw it in there, but I’m sure somewhere in my pickled mind it’s a saying I’ve heard) soooo.

Where the hell was I again?

Oh yeah, smooching nice boy (PS how glad am I he doesn’t read this blog?) Anyway, um, yeah, I like him, didn’t know if he likes me (wait – edit – as a single male I have no doubt should I hit him up for it he would be interested – I have size c to d boobies and legs as long as my hair - which as we know covers my nipples - but I mean did he ‘like’ me, like me) (ps again, apologies for just sounding fifteen years old then)

I agonized over wether to send the nice boy a happy valentines message. Would he take it the wrong way, was it too soon, would he think I was some sort of bunny boiling freak etc.

Shite, having poured more champers, I now forget where I was going with this.

I think the bottom line was………I’m pretty wrapt, despite my cynicism (try typing that when you’re cut folks) that he actually thought to send me flowers.

Strangely (or perhaps not if you do a quick run down on the men I’ve dated over the years) I’ve never actually been sent flowers. I think it’s this point at what I’m chuffed at really. My sister (God bless her cottons socks, must dedicate a post to her soon) has been known to send me flowers, mainly because she knows no one else thinks to send them to me. (I know, trust me, if I could patent her I would, then everyone would get the truly top shelf sis I have)

Again, I’ve lost my train of thought sorry.

Let me refill my champagne.

Again.

Right. Flowers. I got. On the big V day.

Lets just cut a really long rambling story short shall we.

I don’t do V Day.

This year I did.

I’m wrapt with my flowers

Yes that’s pretty much it in a nutshell.

Will I celebrate next year? Who knows. I try not to look ahead.

I would like to add though that THANK GOODNESS I GOT FLOWERS otherwise, following sisters text this arvo I might well be drowning in drink right now. (oh wait, I’m doing that anyway. Right. Moving on)

Anyway, my five year old nephew (who has previously gone by the name of Cowboy according to him) came home from Kingergarden with a REAL valentines card. From his “girlfriend”. By all accounts they are as hot and heavy as two five year old can get. If he is starting to share his chips and popper at little lunch with her, Im going to call it love. So he gets a V day card from her (that was the sisters text that would have had me drowning in alcohol by the way)

I go seven fricking years and he gets one in his first year of school!

I know, where is the justice?

As a proud aunt I’d like to say though he did realize the error of his ways at not having a valentines card ready to return to her. (this talent of recognizing this will come in handy, say 25 years from now) In light of the fact he had nothing but his personality in return (though those that know Cowboy will know this should be more than enough) he searched for a gift. Nine year old sister (who bless her cotton socks too, seems to think I’m a pretty cool aunt, even regardless of the fact I don’t remember anyone birthday but my own and Jesus) happened to have an unwanted plastic bracelet from the showbag she got at the local show last weekend. Cowboy has decided this is the gift he will give his beloved.

Now that my friends….. is love.

I simply must leave you know (did I just hear sighs of relief?) to get back to my bottle of bubbles… I have roses I need to goofily smile at and a nice boy I need to ring.

Cheers, and happy fricking V Day to you all.