Today is Valentine's Day.
As a romance author, you'd think I would ace Valentine's Day.
Not so.
First of all, I'm not a fan of days where you're supposed to feel a certain way.
For example: On New Year's Eve, you're supposed to be excited to go to a party with a ton of people and ring in the year at midnight by kissing someone special. I'm an introvert, so the big crowded party doesn't appeal. I've been blessed to have someone special in my life, my husband of twenty-five years, so I have someone to kiss at midnight, but this wasn't always true.
Valentine's Day has the same vibe to me. I have a Valentine now, but for many years, I didn't. I resented the feeling that something might be wrong with me because I didn't have a special someone to be with and / or had to feel romantic on a day when I felt anything but.
I also have the added pressure of being an author of romance. You'd think I'd be the best at celebrating this most-romantic-of-days event.
Nope.
My husband does.
A few years ago, he gave me the roses you see below. Dark red roses, to be specific, which are my favorites.
Take a closer look at the stems. He tied slips of paper with quotes from Jane Austen novels to each and every stem.
I read Pride and Prejudice at the age of ten and after reading the book, read all of the rest of her works and decided to be a romance author. He knows how I feel about Jane Austen.
(See the curled slips of paper around each stem?)
A closer view...
You see the standard I'm up against.
After much brainstorming, all I've come up with is a card, a Lowe's gift card, and a lottery ticket.
Seriously, this poor man deserves better from his romance author wife.
So on this fourteenth of February, may you have a wonderful Monday, at the very least, or a Happy Valentine's Day, if you're so inclined.
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