Today marked my aunt and uncle’s 30th Valentine’s Day together. (Way to go guys, I can’t even commit to a sandwich for the duration of lunch!) Today also marked yet another Valentine’s Day which has fallen during a period where I’m single. However, that does not in any way mean that I’ve spent today moping, nor have I taken to social media in a bid to declare my recurring singleton status as I have witnessed so many people do today.
I started my day with a small time-related freakout, wondering at which point in my year I sneezed and completely missed January, before making the calculated decision to give today to myself. Why on earth should anyone out there spend a day intended for the celebration of love, feeling terrible about themselves? It just doesn’t make sense, bubs. Listen to your embarrassing Aunt Alice.
So I stayed in my pyjamas, gathered up the dog for a marathon cuddle and put on a box set I’ve been meaning to finish for three billion months. I proceeded to demolish a pack of Sour Patch Kids and call my good friends at Domino’s. Now, to many that may sound like that a bummer of a day, but to me it was the epitome of self-care. A shower at a temperature deemed unsafe for human habitation and a dance around the living room in my underwear to the cheesiest, most in your face, love related pop-songs. Because let’s face it, what’s a better addition to any day than screaming Whitney Houston at a pitch that only dogs are physically capable of hearing?
We’ve got to stop putting the kind of pressure this holiday brings upon ourselves girlies, it’s a celebration of love and how on earth are we able to commit to loving another human being if we can’t show ourselves a little first. So, let your best friends be your valentine’s, eat your favourite food and worry about the calorie counting another day, watch your favourite shows and sing your best cheesy anthems.
And just in case you need a little push in the right direction, here are a few of my personal unbelievably cheesy faves, which my family have begged me to stop singing three times tonight:
To have grown up into a culture where terms such as ‘side chick’ are commonplace, I can’t help but feel horrendously out of place. Growing up, I was the typical delusional Disney child who’d been convinced by our good friend Walt that she’d grow up to one day fall in love with her handsome Prince Charming and they’d ride off into the sunset together, having overcome some great and torturous evil.
The reality? Not so much.
Twenty-first-century dating, is no walk in the park. All the romantic, nervous and quaint ideals that were once surrounding the act of “courting” someone are now a distant memory, and what we’re left with is a distinct lack of morals, with a side order of wanting your cake and eating it too. Intimate, romantic dining has now been replaced with sloppy, drunken nightclub settings. Beautifully composed love songs, have now been replaced with the unbelievably sexist musings of Robin Thicke. Eyes meeting across the room, has now been replaced with a ‘swipe right’ on Tinder. Forgive me if I sound outdated, but when did we let romance die?
At which point did we lose the social structure of meeting, courting, dating, relationship? Everybody knew where they stood. Nobody was left tentatively awaiting a text message during their walk of shame the next day and nor were people left pondering, scrutinising each and every communication from their date, frantically rationalising that ‘seen’ button along the way.
What changed? At which point did we decide to drop the 1950s style courting rituals, for the 2000s style ‘quantity over quality’ mantra.
Given that life itself is something I generally find most taxing and is certainly not my greatest of skills, one may ask why I’m writing about it – And one would be right to. However, the answer isn’t one of a straightforward nature. Keeping journals, diaries and up to date social media has been a frequent feature in my life since an incredibly young age, and I have a love of writing, so the next logical step was to turn my nostalgia-filled love of the English language and drag it into the 21st century with me.
Whether this results in four followers who often roll their eyes and wonder why they are still reading, or four hundred, is of no grave importance to me. What is, is having a place to build up memories, favourite books, makeup products, music, general wonderings and somehow have the end result being a documentation of my twenties that I can forever look back upon.. Hopefully with the odd sentimental chuckle, as opposed to recoiling in cringeworthy horror.