The night before Valentine’s Day, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a… wait, that’s not right. Ppfff…Valentine’s Day. Again.

For the teenager in me, the day represents another chance of potentially receiving that card from Bradley Lamb – we were at school together for 8 years and the one and only time he spoke to me, he asked if I had change for the vending machine; I did not have change and I am fairly certain that is the only reason that a relationship between us did not flourish like a red, red rose.

The romantic inside me is hopeful for a surprise trip to Paris or Venice or another famous city of lurve – preferably with a man. Last year, my friend was blindfolded by her boyfriend (not going where you think) and whisked away to Rome for the weekend, where the weekend ended with him asking her to marry him spelled out in tea lights. I have spent the last 5 Valentine’s Days with my best friend in the pub (prompting my mum to ask if we were lesbians), with our other friends, Pinot and Grigio. Our nights ended in kebabs.

The realist inside of me is certain of one thing – I will receive (and have done a previous 28 times) a Valentine’s Day card from my dad. Even my parents, despite the fact that I have a boyfriend, are not confident of me being able to secure a Valentine’s Day card by myself. Having said this, the day that I stop receiving Valentine’s Day cards from my parents will be a sad day indeed.

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!


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