This Valentine’s Day, my Husband Bear did not buy me flowers. He did not buy me chocolates. He did not take me to a fancy restaurant.
Instead, he got up early this morning (an unusual feat for doona-loving HB) and picked me flowers from our garden (pink ones – my favourite colour), complete with aphids (because I have a soft spot for them even though they’re apparently a pest, just like I have a soft spot for dandelions). He bought me a tile with a pagan Green Man on it (because I’m a bit obsessed with Green Men ever since we saw them at Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland). And, on Saturday night, he took me to our favourite cheap-but-awesome food hall. Because we’ve both had some great dates there in the past and he knows I love the baked spuds.
In short, my Valentine’s Day experience hasn’t exactly been typical. But, then, HB and I have never exactly been a typical couple. After all, we got engaged after five months (I proposed. In the fruit market at Salamanca). We played metal songs at our wedding (and I quoted a metal song in my vows, earning a cheer from HB’s mates). Instead of calling me “sweetie” or “darling”, he calls me “Sausage Thing” (yep, I’m as clueless as you are!).
And, you know what? I love our relationship MORE because it’s not normal. I love that he understands my craziness and is patient with me when I forget (for the millionth time) to close the curtains before I go to bed (so he doesn’t stub his toe trying to do it in th dark), or how to butter bread without making a total mess of it, or how to run the washing machine without flooding the laundry. I love that he’ll understand that tonight, because I’m sick, we won’t be going out for a wild night on the town. Instead, we’ll probably spend tonight on the couch and, instead of a fancy romantic meal, I’ll probably eat apples and plain potatoes, because it’s all I can stomach when I’m this nauseous.
I love that we have our own dances (mine is the “kangaroo”. His is the “leprechaun”). I love that we love the same stupid movies. I love that I can piss him off just by telling him Megadeth suck.
If you’re reading this, Bear, I love you. Because you’re you and you let me be me, and things might never be “normal” with us, but at least they’ll be wonderful.