All you loved up losers, I am now one of you

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The day of love is upon us, and oh how this once cold-hearted leopard has changed her spots.

For 25 years, one moaned about St Valentine, and mocked all those who celebrated his Hallmark day.

Loved up losers who succumbed to cheap advertising and over-priced ‘specials’, and for what?

To show their partner their true feelings, or boast to the world that they weren’t alone?

As a long-time singleton, naturally I presumed it was the latter. Bah-humbug, or the February equivalent. How times have changed. When once I stood and laughed at the saps spending hours choosing the perfect card, yours truly now jostles among them, reading verse after verse, joke after joke, questioning which The Boy would appreciate most. Or dislike least, as the case may be. This wasn’t the case last year, when we celebrated our first February 14 together.

Oh no, nerves were the order of the day then. How much should I spend, do we do gifts, is an A4 card a little too much?

As the day itself approached, fear more than enjoyment was the overwhelming emotion.

What if he didn’t get me anything? It is more of a girl thing, after all. One needn’t have worried, as an almost embarrassingly large bunch of red roses was delivered to my desk on the big day. Phew.

Finally it was my turn. Not that I would ever had admitted it, but for years the girl who expressed her disdain for the day had longed for a delivery of her own.

Flowers, chocolates, a card would have done, but nothing. For too many years, one was a sad spectator. But not anymore. At last I was the envy of the office, and I loved every second.

Now, with an extra 12 months under our belt, we’re in more certain times. These days, I’m a leader amongst V-day men.

Found the right card? Two actually (seriously, and yes, both are necessary).

And gift, well if I do say so myself, one has outdone herself.

Though to be fair, this is compared with others in the office who either, ‘don’t celebrate anymore’, ‘would get him those chocolates, but they’re not on offer’, or ask, ‘Valentine’s, that’s next week, right?’

Amateurs.

Look and learn people. The cards are written, present wrapped and there’s a rather nice bottle of red waiting to be enjoyed with a juicy steak. That’s how it’s done St V.