The first Valentine’s I celebrated with my husband after we started dating, he took me back to the restaurant where we had our first date. It wasn’t fancy but it was a lovely Valentine’s meal. Well, anything is lovely when in the first flushes of love, isn’t it?
The second year, he cooked me a candlelight dinner complete with a heart-shaped “gourmet burger” (his words, not mine). Totally cheesy but so sweet, right? The third year, he went to the hawker centre near my house to tapau. And so began the downward slide.
At the time, with my eye on the prize – diamond engagement ring, wedding and house – I willingly went along with it. The less he spent on those blood-sucking, opportunistic establishments, the bigger and more scintillating the ring. Or so I thought.
Of course, once you lower your standards, there is no way a smart man will let you go back. And so every successive Valentine’s since have been spent without fanfare. One year we even forgot it was Valentine’s and ended up caught out in the mall with nowhere to eat because there were surprisingly enough suckers to jam up every restaurant and the carpark in One U.
This year, we’re not even going to be together! I made plans to have dinner with a group of friends, three of whom are also married with kids proving the point that marriage and kids really do kill off all any semblance of romance.
So excuse me if I’m a bit of a Scrooge about the whole celebration of love. I hope you have a real romantic one – at least someone is getting some of that Cupid action.
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