Valentine's day! What a howling time to celebrate your love, or, if holding aren't going slightly so swimmingly in your relationship, an opportunity to enkindle the romance, get holding going in a greater direction.
So you do all those polite Valentine's Day things: you buy a paper (or 2 or 3) for your sweetheart, you store around for that unusual payment that will say "I respect you" best, you craft reservations at a fancy eating house and order the record close table, you buy a seductive outfit in recent times for the occasion, and bubble-bath, mascara and underwear yourself into preparation. And when Cupid juncture rolls around, you and your dear relish the elation of a day (an evening? A night?) devoted to all remaining and to your admiration.
Then the dismay screeches, it's February 15, and you have a small hangover, he's snoring, and your snazzy new fit out has a rip in it from the race to the sleeping room. You oscitance at each other, kiss-kiss and it's off to work, the kids, the chores, your mother-in-law, you cognize - beingness as it really is. Somewhere in the in-between of your day, you suspiration. The daylight was lovely, it all cloth so good, why can't you have Valentine's Day all day? Practical you takes complete at this point, "Because you'd ne'er get thing done, dressmaker's dummy. Because paychecks don't occur by magic, you don't have a force to do your chores, and kids don't get fed, robed and decent adult short a livelong lot of instance and hard work."
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