Valentines day is the most dreaded day ever for those of us who are romantically alone, or really just hate it for it's commercialism (translated, that means you're probably single and miserableš¤£) and I know this all too well. Just a few years ago I would habitually visit my local Pick n Pay Supermarket and find myself with internal Tourrete's as I would shuffle past all the ridiculously priced chocolates and half dead roses. Magically, I find myself in the wine isle again.... Oh well... you know, I'm here already......
This year I find myself as one half of the most blissful, hallmark-card-schmushy-couples, planning treats and spoils for the one I love, 
But before you start feeling nauseous.
I came here to share a story with you, or a collection of them, and I'm hoping their cringeworthyness will credit me for the barrage of corney and over the top romantic valentines photos and videos I'll be sharing after the 14th.
You see, I start seeing the Valentine's merch appearing on shelves, almost while the Christmas stuff is still up, and my heart to race and my palms to sweat, for all the wrong reasons. For me, It hasn't always been a bed of roses. In fact, for most of my life its just been a disappointing and foul smelling pile of thorns.
I remember clearly, the dreaded school Valentine's Days. Even in junior school - as young as 10 years old, the dreaded Valentine's box in the school library. The deal was, you would pick your person - your secret Valentine - and in a time before whatsapp or social media or instant messaging, you'd and craft and cleverly fold your love letter, like some mysterious origami art: passed from one generation of scholars to the next, sign it - love "anonymous," or if you were really brave, you'd write your name on it, and as you stick your precious note into the slot, you catch a glimpse of the tons of letters in there and figure there MUST be a few of them in there for me, ....... right? Ok, maybe not some, but surely one or two, right? I'm sure that boy who pokes my leg under the desk with the pointy bit of his compass secretly adores me and there's a box of chocolates on the way to my school satchel? No? Maybe a rose? A teddy? A note? What about a breath mint? Or some pencil sharpenings? Like at this point, pretty much anything would be better than that sinking feeling of being one of the forgotten kids again.
You know, when the teacher looks at you over her glasses and sighs as the prefects leave with the remainder of their letters to be distributed to other classes, part of you wanting to stop them in the hall so you can ravage through the letters, because surely there must be a mistake.
You cant be alone again this Valentine's.... right?
So ...
I started a little tradition with all of my beloved and totally dorky socially awkward friends, and every year, we started writing "Be my Valentines" cards to each other and we'd buy each other chocolates and you know what? We totally beat the system. Even though it wasn't technically "romantic" love, we did love each other. The friends I had during that time are still my best friends today. Because we didn't fit into a box, so we totally made our own.
Highschool came along and they raised the stakes. Now you could order red roses and boxes of chocolates at the tuck-shop, that would be distributed on the dreaded day. The absolute most heartbreaking thing ever for me in grade 8 as the love of my life had just boarded a plane to Sweden and we were going to be separated for at least the next 4 years (long distance dating is HORRIBLE). All the pretty popular girls were showered with choccies and little love notes and flowers, but this wasn't junior school anymore. Here, there was no friendship box, and I spent that break alone and crying in the bathroom.
Skip forward a year, and I'd given up on the dream of my long distance relationship and being able to save enough money for a return flight from my cashier shifts at the Kauai store every second Saturday night. The universe was definitely trying to tell me something here (like yelling it from the mountain tops): Happily ever after and love were clearly not meant for me and I was cursed to be lonely. Then I met THAT guy. The guy that romanced me, made me dinner from scratch, sang me love songs and within as little as 6 weeks, managed to convince me to "give up the goods" and "get down" about a month before my 15th birthday. We met in the December holidays at an under 18 party, we started dating and things got really serious really fast. I'll give you one guess who got dumped THE DAY before Valentine's day. Yep. That was me. Standing in Cardies, crying my eyes out, stuffed animal and used Valentine's card in hand, asking the manager if I could get a refund. I did get my money back for the stuffed animal, but not the card, which I gloriously set on fire and flushed down the toilet.
But, believe it or not
It gets worse......
Skip forward another year, and this time, I've given up on school all together and moved in with my wild biker-boyfriend after knowing him for about 2 months. We spent our 1st date and 1st Valentine's simultaneously at a full on biker ralley in the middle of nowhere. Talk about a change of scenery. Well, we did end up staying together for 8 years, so I guess that counts for something: disclaimer DO NOT try this at home, though.
A long time a go in a galaxy far away I got passed up for a Lego Millennium Falcon... no you did not misread that.
So the biker -boyfriend and I had now been dating for five years and the ripe old age of 20 (turning 21) I totally jumped with glee when he told me he was considering the "M" word. Each Valentines prior to this one, we merged valentines and our anniversary because they were practically on the same day, and we went ALL OUT. The idea was, from year to year, we would change who's turn it was to pay the bill (I was a really good waitress).
Of course, my luck, we planned to do the whole engagement thing on my watch, and I sure as heck wasn't going to let him propose to me in a parkinglot (lol), so I did what any girl would do.
I hired a helicopter and a boat.
Ok, that's a bit of a stretch.
I booked us a romantic Cape Peninsula Tour on the Huey Helicopter and a table on the ever so glamorous Sea Princess: the floating restaurant at the V&A waterfront.
I bought my special dress long in advance and he even helped me pick it out.
On the afternoon of the big day, I spent my time with my older sister and she did my hair and makeup and got all nervy and ready for the inevitable proposal.
We got to the waterfront and quickly stopped to buy a disposable camera (yes, there was a time, a long time ago, when cell phones did not have cameras) and off we set with a bunch of tourists to the helipad where our evening of delights was set to take off.
And oh lord, should I have taken the hint. Firstly, let me tell you now that helicopters are TERRIFYING. Generally, I am also terrified of heights. But it was then that I realised just how door-less this combat flight machine was.
Lets just let that word "combat" settle in for a bit.
So the thing took of ass-1st, and as my stomach was trying to exit through my eyeballs, and I started losing consciousness from panic, the co-pilot started blasting Queen and ACDC from some fricking ridiculously loud speakers, so loud that it **almost **drowned out the helicopter noises. It was around about then, as we flew out over the Atlantic Ocean, that I realised we were going in the wrong direction and that this wasn't the route on the map AT ALL. Then the pilot hit whatever it is that is supposed to keep the helicopter up in the sky and we started plummeting, pulling us up so close to the damn ocean that sea water was splashing us in the face.
When we landed, my poor soon-to-be-fiancƩ's knees were bruised to all hell from me holding onto them for dear life (he would deserve it later though). The the ground-staff came to apologise profusely to us and all the other tourists who looked like they had stuck their fingers into a live electrical socket.
They'd got their clipboards mixed up and accidentally put us on the combat flight instead of the romantic peninsula tour.
They totally offered to let us get back on, but I figured I'd quit while my stomach was still on the inside. After all, we only had half an hour to get to the docks to board for our float-around-the-waterfront-dinner-and-dance.
We got to the boat, we got seated at our table. I was now winding down from near death and allowed my other feelings to return and remembered why we were there in the 1st place.
Would now be a good time to tell you that in our house, we had an ENTIRE spare room: dedicated to Star Wars Action Figures? HUNDREDS of them, if not over a thousand. From Mint Condition Original and in the box Vinyl Cape Jawas and Brass Bikini Princess Leias, to full sized Lightsabers and priceless movie memorabilia from the original productions in the 70's and 80's. I was inducted/ introduced when we met and I had watched the entire franchise (there were four movies at this stage: Episode 4,5 and 6 and Episode 1) and I am not exaggerating, at least 1000 times. At. Least. And still to this day, for someone who hadn't watched Star Wars at all until the age of 16, I can kick ANYONES butt at Star Wars Trivial Pursuit.
So, back on the boat, we order our drinks, which were the most ridiculous cocktails you have ever seen: think an entire tropical island in a glass. The the waitress came over and told us we're about to set sail, and the BF said, "WAIT! It's an emergency, I need to disembark." He got off and returned just in time for us to depart.
Of course, I'm like "oooooooooohoooooooooooo he left the ring in the car.........." "phew that was a close one."
Lol
The evening went on. I honestly don't remember much more out of this fateful night, except that as it went on and we got through 4 courses, 2 bottles of champagne and an entire cluster of tropical islands, I started to feel like there was something .... amiss, my stomach started to sink and the tears started to well up.
Eventually the ship docks, our dessert plates are cleared away and I can see our waitress peering at us, because we're the only idiots that haven't asked for the bill. So
I ask for the bill...
And while we're waiting I ask:
That burning question.....
That I've been waiting all night to have an answer to....
And fighting the lump in my throat, I say softly:
"Why haven't you proposed yet?"
And his simple response was:
I CHANGED MY MIND
You know what he got off the boat for earlier?
A goddamn MF Lego Millenium Falcon.
It was in the effing car (and I had to share my seat with it as we were in a coupe with zero boot space) when we arrived there walking in silence from the boat.
As much as I can laugh at it now, it was the absolute worst feeling I could describe. Let down, heartbroken, disappointed, angry, furious even, betrayed....
1 month later, I packed my bags and moved out.
What is really crazy (as if that wasn't enough) is that 8 months later, he did eventually propose at the docks (which is almost like a parking lot, but for boats - the irony is not lost on me) and guess who got to put the decal stickers on the stupid Millennium Falcon and got to put the Chewy Lego Action Figure inside?
Me.
No. We sure as hell didn't last though.
We were finished a year after the actual engagement.
And I left him and his goddamn action figures far behind me, in a galaxy FAR far away.
So forgive me, if this year, I # SMOTHER myself and my flipping fantastical-loving-almost-husband-person in chocolate and kisses and romance, because if anyone has a reason to feel happy this Valentine's, it's us. And I'm going to wave that cupcake around like a greedy kid at a diabetes party.