Or happy unimaginative, consumerist-oriented and entirely arbitrary, manipulative and shallow interpretation of romance day, if you like. It’s windy here in Trondheim, so perhaps I should say Happy Windsday!
As someone who’s never “celebrated” valentine’s day due to, well, finding the idea of synchronised romance completely silly, I find the increasing amount of exposure here in Norway plain irritating. Because it seems to be on the rise. The shops are full of it, obviously. Facebook is full of it. Twitter is full of it, too. I’ve had it up to here. And, yes, even the papers. Adressa was kind enough to tell us that even if we’d forgotten there were still a couple of restaurants left that had tables available tonight, but not many, so we needed to hurry. Yeah. Because going out for a romantic dinner on the same days as absolutely everybody else is sooooo appealing. They probably even squeeze a couple of extra tables in, just to make the most of the mad spending spree. I’d probably be about as comfortable as Harry was at Madame Puddifoot’s with Cho, even if I’d be somewhat more confident of “what to do” with my date (assuming I’d get the husband to come along in the first place, which is doubtful, I’d probably have to go on my own, and what fun is that?).
Which all reminded me of an earlier post on media antics in relation to valentine’s: A rose by any other name. I wish I knew what happened to the poor “winner”.
Oh, and I got roses this weekend. And tulips. Though the husband was very clear on the point that they were for Sunday – which was mother’s day here in Norway – NOT Monday. We sort of celebrate mother’s/father’s day, though rather half-heartedly. I did remember to send my mother a message – at 9:30 pm. Not so impressive.
The flowers are nice, though.
PS: I do. Truly, madly, deeply. I try not to wait for some random Monday in February to tell him, though.