Well, it starts from midnight before V-Day, just like it does on my birthdays too. Love poems, some picked from the Net, some my very own that I often share on my Facebook wall and some very quirky sexy messages from those who know they can never take me to bed! That’s how I start the morning of 14th February. Not with a kiss from my husband, but with flowers that start arriving early morning from my boyfriends. And I take pride in making my husband jealous (at least I think I do, though later I find I didn’t) when before leaving for office he sees our living room half full with bunches of orchids and lilies and not roses. But he proves to be smarter, by offering a lone rose from our garden, to stand out from the rest. I cry out: “Afterthought!”
He says he forgot the date just like he forgets our anniversary date every year. And yes, he still hasn’t realised why I do not love roses as much as I do lilies.
But in doing so, he somehow endorses the eternal truth on which our married life dangles – everyday love. Really, what’s in a V-Day after all? When every morning my husband fights with our adolescent son as to who will give me the morning kiss first, when on weekends we toil our garden together growing flowers and admiring them, when on Sundays he tries hard to make a breakfast of half burnt toasted sandwiches and omelettes that never come with the right amount of salt, I ask myself, “Do we really need a V-Day to prove that this man who has been a constant in my life, loves me?”