Let me just say that I don't like Valentine's Day.
Firstly, because people expect me to like it. I'm seventeen, I'm a girl, QED, I must count the days until the fourteenth of February. I despise being shoved into a mass stereotype without my permission.
Secondly, I have never had a boyfriend. I do not have a boyfriend. I do not currently want a boyfriend, although I perceive that the time may come when I change my mind.
Especially since I've decided I want five kids.
Thirdly, while I think the idea of a day set apart for people to express their love and appreciation for each other is sweet, Valentine's Day has been so commercialized that it really turns me off. I have to admit that the same is true of all other holidays. (Except Easter, ever since the Easter Bunny started visiting our house.)
But this morning I was pretending a conversation with an invisible friend (yes, I'm strange) about Valentine's Day.
And this is what I told them:
"The two most romantic gifts my dad has ever given my mom are a garbage disposal and a set of sharp knives.
"The garbage disposal was romantic because at the time her sink would clog up a lot and get gooey, stinky, stagnate stuff in it. It made a nasty job significantly less nasty.
"The sharp knives were romantic because she couldn't do anything (fibromyalgia) in the kitchen, and being helpless happens to severely impact my mom's self-esteem. With the knives she didn't have to push down hard to cut stuff, so she could do some stuff in the kitchen, which, incidentally, made me happy too.
"Cut roses are pretty and all, but even if you baby them they die after a week. But if you take care of them, sharp knives are sharp forever."
I shared this conversation with the Teacher, and asked if this means I'm an unromantic person. She laughed at me. Such is the fate of a great mind.