Very much in love or The Story of an Ungrateful B*tch
2 years ago, I was very much in love.
And the Valentines Day of two years ago, was the last one I spent as part of a couple. I looked for a blog-post of mine from that day, but it wasn’t there. I did find a Love Letter from February 19th, addressed to the guy I was in love with, and initially, it surprised me. Not that I wrote the love letter, but that I *didn’t* write about the Valentines Day he gave to me.
Thinking about it now, I know perfectly well why I didn’t write about it.
Bear with me; here goes.
He flew to Italy from Denmark, carrying a hundred red roses and a bottle of champagne. He had booked a table in one of the fanciest restaurants of Florence and had the champagne poured and the roses brought, just as we sat down at our table. There was also musicians and everybody’s eyes were on us, and the lucky girl that received such lavish attention from her man.
An American couple was taking our picture (he exchanged emails with them so that they might send the pictures), and the Italian restaurant-Mama that came out with my roses, whispered in my ear, how lucky I was and that he would surely marry me someday. After we sat down, toasted and tasted our champagne and the whole thing quieted a bit down, he produced a heart-shaped box full of tasty little chocolates.
All the while looking me deep in the eye and holding my hand.
We ate and drank my favorite foods and wines by candlelight and to the sound of languorous violins.
This true story might stop here, and I could leave you to go “ooooh and aaaw” over a guy that was this much in love. I was very much in love too, but this thing here needs confessing.
Because fact is; I hated every moment of it.
Judge me if you will, this is not something I am proud of; but.
I felt like a deer caught in headlights.
I felt as if I was on a stage, reciting the part of The Girl Who’s Very Much in Love – but that this much pressure made me forget my lines and gestures.
This much expectation from everybody, from him peering into my eyes, just killed it all.
I love roses, champagne and chocolate.
Hell, I love a bit of romanticism.
But I get the creeps from long sessions of “we-can’t-stop-staring-into-each-others-eyes-we’re-so-in-love” and I get claustrophobia and a nervous itch from a he, that won’t let go of my hand long enough for me to have a sip of wine.
I hate to walk in step, or maybe I just always seem to be the one correcting *my* step to his. I can fall asleep tightly wound around somebody (and love to) but sooner or later, during the night, I will turn my back to him and face the space in front of me.
So; we’ve established that I am an ungrateful, heartless bitch, and that I don’t want all of the above.
But that’s not true either.
Because I *do* want it.
I always look at the very-much-in-love-couples at the restaurant with a mixture of envy, longing and suspect. I long to be that much in love, to receive a kiss on each of my fingertips, to share a dessert, to look him in the eye for loooong, silent minutes. But I also find myself trying to guess if either one of them has an itch to up and run Forrester – trying to guess if I am the only one to find it too peachy to bear.
And I *have* been very much in love. I *have* sat there, staring into his eyes, receiving kisses to my hearts’ content. But sooner or later I have always become itchy, and I always wonder if I’m the only one and if I’m just ungrateful.
I am not working tonight, but I will miss to see such a concentration of lovely couples at the restaurant.
Would love to try and single out the slightly twitchy girl in the corner, hand clenching his hand too hard, big smile plastered on her face and confusion in her eyes, and let her know with a glance that it is OK.
But maybe she’s not there and I *am* a heartless bitch.
Here’s a Happy Valentine to heartless bitches who will snicker at happy couples while secretly longing.
And here’s a Happy Valentine to all of you happy, non-itchy, siamese-twin-joined-by-the-hip, lingering lovebirds out there.
I envy you, but apparently I don’t have the wits to want what you have.
*And now Valentine Karma will ensure I never get romantic attention on February 14th again
I received a one-word text after writing this post. “Cynic” it said.
I like to think that this is not really about cynicism. If you would like to buy me flowers and chocolate; by all means do, I love it. Don’t do it because you think I expect it. I will spit on your flowers rather than have them because you think I want them. I love to get lost in beautiful eyes and hold hands, but chances are, I will do it when it is least expected of me, and if the stage is set, lights are on and I find myself in what feels like a choreography, I will Up-and-do-a-Forrester.
Somebody left flowers outside my door today. No card, no nothing. My karma can’t be all that bad =).