Belated post-Valentine's musings

I have very mixed feelings about Valentine's Day.

There was a time -- back in my teenage years -- when I dreamed of getting a rose on Valentine's Day. Naturally the rose would be accompanied by a declaration of deep love. And of course this never happened. I didn't have a boyfriend and there weren't any bold secret admirers lurking in the background.

So. I admit that my opinions might be based in old disappointment. But now that I'm older, I am significantly less romantic. When boys start talking about love, I get uncomfortable. I just can't take Valentine's Day seriously.

Reason 1: We all know it was a day invented to sell cards and jewelry and chocolate.
Reason 2: I am a very private and stoic person, and the idea of spending a day being all mushy and lovey-dovey sets my teeth on edge.
Reason 3: I ate two boxes of Girl Scout cookies in 48 hours and dear God I don't need people giving me candy.

My past couple of Valentine's Days were easy. Last year, I was in a long-distance relationship and we just sent each other handmade cards. We were both poor underemployed college graduates, so no gifts required. The year before that, I had dated the boy for about two and a half weeks. We ate some cheap Chinese food and then went to a house party. No pressure and no gooeyness.

But this Valentine's Day, I was nine months into a relationship with someone new. I was nervous. Would he want to do something? Did I want to do something? Could I admit that I wanted to do something?

To my intense relief, he was the one to bring it up about three weeks before the day. I was quick to say "oh, I don't believe in that Valentine's stuff."

I expected him to agree, but his response was surprising. "I know that it's a Hallmark holiday, but I think it can be nice. Some women wouldn't get any romance at all if there wasn't a day set aside for it. No reason not to do it for one day out of the year."

(Um. Keeper?)

We decided on dinner at a nice restaurant we both wanted to try. I got excited to eat some tasty expensive food. Then, in the couple weeks leading up to it, he began mentioning getting me a gift.

"Oh, you don't need to get me something," I said. His answer: "I know I don't have to, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't."

And suddenly, to my surprise, I felt really happy. Maybe I did care about Valentine's after all?

A week later, the warm fuzzies turned into panic. What was I doing? Me, who prided myself on being such a feminist and rejecting traditional gender roles. He was getting me a gift. I needed to get him a gift!!!!!

I brooded. Chocolate? That seems so cliched and impersonal. Flowers? I didn't think boys were into that. Cuff links? I couldn't imagine him wearing such a thing. Nice beer? That's what a guy friend would get him for his birthday.

I brooded some more. I fretted. I looked everywhere. And then finally, on my lunch hour on Valentine's Day itself, I went to Borders and bought a hardback Star Wars graphic novel. Not romantic. Not sexy. Not hardly. But I knew he would enjoy it.

(Confession: I spent the entire day secretly hoping flowers would arrive with my name. No such luck. Of course that wouldn't happen -- he was far too poor to order from a florist in addition to going to dinner.)

Our reservation was at 6:30, so we both RAN home from work and shuffled into nice clothes at his place. (Another confession: still no flowers.) When I came downstairs, he was holding a gift wrapped in a plastic bag. (No, literally wrapped. Like you would wrap with wrapping paper.)

"I got you something too!" I said. He looked nervous.

"Oh, really?"

I nodded, feeling insecure. Then we headed out the door.

He wanted to open the gifts at dinner, while we waited for our food to come out. He handed me mine first. It was plastered with tape and I struggled to rip off the plastic bag. Finally I pulled back the wrapping and beheld the gift below.

It was a book. The cover featured a cartoon woman wearing flaming goggles. It read: "Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics."

I stared down and considered this. No flowers. No chocolate. No jewelry. Instead, a serious academic gender theory book about female comics writers.

Not romantic at all. Except... that it was perhaps the perfect gift for a girl who refused to admit an interest in Valentine's Day, and insisted on paying for half the meal and buying her boyfriend a gift too. So maybe that did make it romantic. Because he knew me that well.

I looked up and smiled at him widely. And I told him it was awesome, because it was.

Next he opened my gift and started smiling as well. Then he realized it was comics and got even more excited. I'm sure the people at the table next to us thought we were complete weirdos.

And I think the moral is: if you are dating the right person, Valentine's Day will work itself out.