Happy Valentine’s Day! Today will involve the usual amount of romance for me and my husband (by which I mean none at all, as is explained in last year’s blog post), but I hope that others of you out there have exciting plans to spoil and be spoiled! I do have a ‘date’ to go out this afternoon to find my Chou-fleur’s first dress, which, for someone who always wanted a daughter, is about as exciting as life gets. I can’t wait!
Book of the day: Wuthering Heights
Valentine’s Day is not a particularly celebrated occasion in my household. As much as I enjoy tales of enduring love, aided and abetted by theatrical grand gestures and heroic sentimentality, where the most sophisticated performances cause tissues to be conjured from thin air and unsuspecting women to be transformed temporarily into pandas, I only slightly envy girlfriends whose partners have sacrificed a good deal of time and sanity into creating the perfect Valentine’s celebration. In truth I am not overly keen on being the centre of attention and feel easily flustered and uncomfortable (even in a crowd of two). My poor husband is positively allergic to the glare of the spotlight. In this one and only instance he is the master of subtlety (he is at all times the king of the understatement). If I were suddenly to perish I cannot for a moment…
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