Meet Maegan. She's one of my best friends and thank goodness she finally lives in Little Rock. She sent me this story not too long ago and I thought it was perfect for today's post. Enjoy.
Dear Cupid, Please spare your arrow this year…
Valentine’s Day. Two words that can bring smiles or a gag reflex, instantly. I remember being five and my dad bringing home pink roses for me and red roses for my mom, he twirled me around the air and I thought every Valentine’s Day would be full of glitter and roses. Of course, at five, I also told my mom I wanted to marry someone who would buy me a happy meal every day.
I didn’t know the truth about Valentine’s Day until I had my first serious boyfriend…
I’ll never forget the Valentine’s Day he gave me a wrapped box. It was heavy, couldn’t really shake it, and I thought, “oh, something good!” No matter what the present is, it’s fun to tear something open with complete enthusiasm.
There it was. A scale. The kind you stand on to weigh yourself. The kind that not only tells you how much you weigh, it also tells you your body fat percentage. Nothing spells romance like body fat percentages.
I guess the look on my face showed how I really felt. He was genuinely surprised that I didn’t jump for joy over the scale. It was kind of hard to want to go to dinner after that. I just kept thinking, what’s my body fat percentage going to be after I eat?? There was no dessert that night. For anyone.
Let’s skip to the next year…same clueless boyfriend… (Looking back now, these should have been RED flags, sky rockets in the air, someone with yellow flags yelling stop! Sadly, I didn’t pay attention.)
Valentine’s was in the middle of the week and I was busy with college classes and internships. At that time in life I thought that Valentine’s Day meant that you HAD to do something with your significant other. That year he got me something unmemorable. I smiled. We left for dinner. I thought, well, maybe this year will be different…
Oh, how I was wrong.
We were at dinner, and I ordered grilled chicken and veggies. Because, well, let’s be honest, the year before I got a scale. In the middle of dinner and nibbling on my steamed broccoli, my boyfriend at the time said, “I don’t really know where this is going with us. I’m not sure how I feel right now...”
In the middle of dinner. In the middle of the restaurant. In the middle of my steamed broccoli.
Homeboy just told me he ‘didn’t know where this was going”, I’ll tell you where it didn’t go that night…
Interestingly enough, my Valentine’s Day stories don’t end there.
About three years ago, I was going out to dinner again, with a boyfriend when I said, “Can we stop by Sam’s?” I needed to swing by and grab something in bulk that I’m sure I could have waited for, but we were RIGHT there. It seemed logical to me.
We walked into Sam’s and he is obviously mad because I wanted to detour. Hello, I’m a woman, it’s my prerogative, buddy. I’m walking down the bulk isle in Sam’s looking for whatever it is I was looking for, and I decided to call my cousin because her birthday is the same as Valentine ’s Day. I like to call that multi-tasking.
I didn’t get off the phone fast enough for him to let me know quickly how mad he was that I wasn’t paying him my full attention and how rude I was.
I walked out of Sam’s, got into his truck, told him to take me home. He followed me to the door, thinking that we would just talk it out and make up. I walked inside, took everything I could find of his and threw it out the door. LITERALLY. Apparently he didn’t know that Southern girls don’t take lightly to being yelled at.
This year, I am happy to say I will be completely single on Valentine’s Day. I may be the happiest single person on the planet on Valentine’s Day, but I secretly keep hope that one day, I’ll have a Valentine’s Day as memorable as when I was five.