This is how I was feeling about my Valentines day until something happened that changed it all.
Note to self : NEVER write about your perfect fantasy romantic Valentines day on your blog.
This year, Valentines Day has been seriously underwhelming.
My husband is usually so giving, so thoughtful, so romantic. What, I wonder, went wrong?
I wanted a hand made card. A card with love oozing from every stroke of the felt tips or blob of glue. I got... a hand made card. Just not made by his hand. The sort of card I see in the card shops that makes me wonder how they get away with charging money for. The sort of card that probably has an expensive 'hand made' price tag because it is the only way to attach value to something so intrinsically worthless.
I wanted a love poem. A clumsy but well meant concoction of words that would hold love between every unrhythmic line. I got... a statement of love. I suppose I should be thankful for that at least but it wasn't exactly overflowing with romance.
I wanted to be served with cake, made by him, with love in every cracked eggshell and beat of the wooden spoon. I wanted to be serenaded with love in every note that failed to find the tune. I got... neither.
He did leave me a small gift on the bedside table before he went to work. It was a massage bar from Lush. I love Lush products. I went into their store on Saturday and admired the gorgeous range of Valentine themed products. I did not admire the massage bar. I already have one, slightly used, on the window sill of my bathroom. I now have two.
I'm beginning to hate how incredibly ungrateful I sound but the truth is, every year since we first got together, I have been made to feel like the luckiest woman alive on Valentines day. This Valentines, our first Valentines as man and wife, I really didn't.
He did say that he had been going to buy me a big bouquet of flowers but decided that he would take me out for a lovely meal instead - maybe at half term.
So a vague promise, a spare massage bar and an elaborately crafted bit of recycling were the ingredients of my special day. I spent the evening doing the ironing while he tidied the kitchen.
Unless he is saving his big romantic gesture for our first wedding anniversary next weekend, I can only assume that the honeymoon is finally over.
So what happened to change it all?
Just before midnight, with sleep seeming to be something that was not going to bless me with an end to this less than perfect day, I found out that my husband had made the card. Made it with his own hand with love in every tear of the specially bought paper, love in every stroke of pritt stick, love in the loops of the velvet bow.
My first response was amazement that he had actually made something so authentically crafted - he has a design talent I hadn't credited him with. Then I felt terrible that I'd misjudged him so badly and how hurtful it must have been that my reaction to the card he'd so generously made just for me was less than enthusiastic. Suddenly , the words he'd written inside were charged with meaning that I had completely missed before I knew this was his own work.
One tiny little misunderstanding had cast a huge cloud over our 'romantic' day but now the cloud had lifted and the sun was shining through.
I love my card. I love my husband. By next year, I might even love Valentines day again!