So, my take on Valentine's Day, then.

Until now, I have hated this day with a superb intensity normally reserved for child molesters and rapists.

But, see, I don't anymore. And, while this post will probably wander into the slightly sappy, the outset I have in mind isn't sappy at all. I chose my position. Me. I did it. And I did a good job, this time.

My position is this:

I am single by choice.

Last year at this time I was at my Mom and Dad's in Florida. They had only just moved there, and I was helping my mother unpack boxes while my dad finished up working in Indianapolis. I was morose. I couldn't stop thinking about how really I should have been down there with my two little daughters, trying to keep track of them and laughing with their Grammy, my mom, instead of actually getting any unpacking done. I knew with my whole heart that I'd never have the girls with my former spouse (the McDonaldland Character), and I knew my marriage was coming to an end (though I couldn't admit it quiiiiiiiite yet.) When Grimace sent flowers to me at my folks' house for Valentine's Day, it was like a sad joke. I distinctly remember perking up a little bit and thinking, "Maybe there's still hope," because he was not famous for thinking of me once I had left the room.

I am exponentially less lonely this year than I was last year at this time. (Is it possible to be exponentially less something?) I wake up in a home where NOT ONE PERSON is ignoring me every day directly to my face. My bed is comfortable and warm and I've gotten a good night's sleep because I didn't have a large, hairy, snoring tornado in there with me. There is still milk and cereal and orange juice (yummm) in the house that I can eat for breakfast. (OhyesIsuredid have to hide cookies in my glove compartment just so I could have some.) Everything is where I left it. A reasonable amount of towels are used each week. The laundry is always caught up. Hmmm, it's starting to sound like I actually cared about the towels and the socks on the floor; I didn't. It's just a nice bonus.

What I do care about is that the main person in my life last year -- my husband -- is no longer in my face NOT offering love, not offering encouragement, not offering support, not offering to be proud of me for my little accomplishments, not offering to find me charming when I am. Hell, he wasn't even offering consciousness or rudimentary participation. You know, that kind of thing puts a real damper on the whole sex situation.

This year, I'm free to offer those things to myself, or to find someone else to help celebrate me. This works wonderfully. In fact, if I ever married again, (say when I was 57 or so,) I'll still depend on myself or people of my choosing to help celebrate what God and I are whipping up in my life. The bigger the party, the better!

So, party on, ye happily coupled. Good for you. I'm happy for you. And I mean that. Not only that, I predict that I'll BE one of you, one day. BUT FOR TODAY, I'LL TAKE MY CHOICE.

Having the best friends on the planet doesn't hurt my attitude, either. Numbers, queens, verybestfriends, and family: You're the force behind my being able to stay this happy. Because even the gleefully, blissfully solo still desire the love.