It was Grade 6 and Valentine’s Day Night. I was probably inside watching Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman or listening to MMMBop on the radio with my Pocahontas sweatshirt and tights on (I kid you not).
The doorbell rings and I walk to the door, open it. No one is there. I look down and there is a plastic grocery bag. Weird.
I open the bag and find inside: a card with my name on it, plastic hearts made out of Play Doh and some candy. My heart beats faster and not in a good way. I feel sick.
I open the card to find that a boy at school says he “likes” me. This was a big deal and I was a 12-year-old tomboy with no time for this. Why couldn’t he just anonymously call me and hang up like everyone else? Gawd! What is a girl to do?
The fool wrote in pencil so I quickly used a white eraser and changed my name to my best friend down the street. I called her up, gave her the bundle and instantly it became her problem full of mixed emotions. I know that I am basically the worst.
Love (or Like) starts with these simple acts and then turns into more elaborate gestures.
In Grade 12 there is a little thing called Prom. In my high school, asking someone was a big deal. One guy played the guitar and sang, Enrique Iglesias “Hero” over the intercom for his “Prom-Posal” ask.
Others did the creepy, put real goldfish in the girl’s bathtub and a sign that reads: “Of all of the fish in the sea, I choose you” or some garbage like that.
And who could forget the Hershey Kisses on the floor and a note saying: “Now that I have kissed the ground you have walked on, will you go to Prom with me?” Insert canned “Awww” sound and heartfelt keyboard music from episodes of Full House here.
And then it gets even more awful: the real deal marriage proposal.
We have all witnessed the over-the-top, stadium full of people, proposals where we secretly want her to say no because we are awful people. Only me?
Or the “extreme” proposal asks in helicopters, hot air balloon rides or what have you. Then it’s all like, “Maybe we should have our engagement be a year or five so I can save up again for the wedding part cause I kind of blew all of my savings on this ring and hiring this pilot for five hours. I love you.”
At my stage in the game, love is not a grandiose gesture. It is having someone to yell profanities at the television like “Free Stephen Avery!”
This Valentine’s Day, spend time, talk to, and walk with those you love. Or if all else fails, there is always Netflix.
Abby Keyes is a St. Paul resident that writes a humour blog; visit her page at keyeschronicles.blogspot.ca
