It's the most wonderful time of the year...

Valentine’s Day. I don’t know of anyone else who hails it their favorite holiday, but I definitely claim it as mine. Loooove it. Everything’s wonderfully tacky and pink; it’s as if my id has full claim to retail décor. And of course there’s the Irish guy.

Our first Valentine’s Day together ohhh so many years ago began as a flop. My image of stunning him with my beauty as we delicately dined over five courses was shattered when I visited his college and we were both entirely too sick and too broke to do anything. It wasn’t the cute sniffly kind of sick, either; it was a “I feel like such crap I could care less that my hair is sticking up in all directions and that the dark circles under my eyes have begun to audibly cry for concealer” kind of sick. (This is from a girl who couldn't leave her dorm for a fire drill without mascara. It was that bad.) With the drama that only a college girl could muster, I proclaimed to myself that Valentine’s Day was ruined. RUINED!

So we gave up. We just sat on the floor eating mac ‘n cheese, and out of the pot no less; college boys being none too fond of actual dinnerware. My date outfit stayed in the suitcase as I opted for the comfort of his gym clothes. Yet in giving up the traditional Valentine’s Day we discovered our own. The night was wonderful: the ease of conversation, the constant laughter, the overwhelming feeling of how considerate/smart/funny/right-for-me this guy was. We spend each Valentine’s Day the same way. Gifts are not allowed. No Hallmark growling lions or “Every kiss begins with Kay” around here. We have the same mac ‘n cheese from the pot, the same laughter, the same overwhelming feeling of “wow, I'm lucky.”