It is Friday the thirteenth. Although my life is an obstacle course of superstition, this occasion has never brought me any bad luck. Happily this morning I saw two magpies out of the window at first light. In the semi gloom I did put my knickers on back to front and resisted the urge to adjust the mistake. I’m just so pleased I don’t wear a thong. So, I’m safe. It is well known in supernatural circles that the defiant power of reversed knickers always trumps the hand of doom.
Far more important is the date tomorrow – 14th February. I guess it’s potentially the best or worst day of the year. You love him. He loves you. He loves you not. He loves you but doesn’t know the date. He loves you but he’s a creepy stalker with dog breath and a socially plausible excuse! She sends you a card out of capricious vanity….dear me – just remember what happened when Bathsheba sent Mr Boldwood a teasing card in Thomas Hardy’s novel “Far From The Madding Crowd”. Yes – it’s an interpersonal swine-field.
Like most things spontaneous and romantic- they can be improved with good management. For the past two weeks I’ve been indicating to my man that there may be a package arriving that he is not to open because it may contain items he should not see yet. I’ve been casually talking about the Valentine’s merchandising in Walmart as I complain about regular items being moved.
“Do you know they’ve moved the unwashed organic potatoes so that they can sell more cards with gaudy quilted hearts!” I say casually. He nods. He gets it. He loves it when I talk dirty.
But, it’s a wonderful festival of sentiment. It can be over the top and under the bottom but that’s how love is. Check out my Valentine poem. It’s an indulgent fest of vulgar velvet but that’s the way I love my man.
Emma Thinx: You are not my heart. You are its beat.