To wrap up Valentine’s day, I asked one of my dearest friends, Olga from the always enjoyable Get Thee to the Punnery to write a little something about her past Valentine’s experiences.  Don’t forget to check out her blog for more stories! XO

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Romance is kind of my specialty. Or perhaps a recurring theme in my life? When I was in Grade 9 I filled out all of the questionnaires that littered my agenda as though each answer carried the weight of life or death. Little did I know that my answers would turn into little time capsules of my adolescent mind.

In response to one particular question–What do you value most in your life–I wrote in this order: Singing, romance and family.

I’m a singer these days. I sing jazz in smoky (sometimes greasy) bars to other romantics and alcoholics. And for some time I’ve worked for a romance novel company of a certain name.

But for a very long time, Valentine’s day was not a good day for me. I recall one year a blog post I wrote about the day–on the day–when a few ladies in the office received flowers and edible arrangements from their beaus. I was startlingly bitter about this. Even when they offered me one of their cookies. I accepted it begrudgingly.

Last year I got dressed to the nines on Valentine’s day and received a compliment from a co-worker in the kitchen to which I scoffed heartily. I still feel the urge to apologize for that one, even though she’s probably long forgotten and I no longer work in that office.

I guess my bitterness toward Valentine’s day has always been in some way a reaction to the fact that I didn’t have much romance in my life, not in the way of a significant other, that is. I certainly had plenty of crushes but an actual Valentine has been a rare occurance in my life.

One year, I totally fucked it up, though. I could have had a beau. I was excited about having a beau. He was a friend of a friend. A tall, handsome, stoic man with a sharp wit and a funny cologne that tickled my nose but in a good way. We had been courting for months and it seemed written in the stars to be a great romance.

On Halloween, three months earlier, I had concocted my best costume ever: Alice in Wonderland. I looked adorable with my petticoat and white tights, my silly little apron and black hair bow. My paramour had access to quite the costume collection and when he climbed into the car beside me, I was impressed to see that he’d cobbled together a pretty decent Willy Wonka. Except, as he rotated his tophat a quarter turn, he wasn’t Willy Wonka. He was the Mad Hatter.

We spent the night giggling and talking. I felt like I was in high school again as girlfriends cornered me at the party and demanded to know how it was going. Except this never happened to me in high school!

Yet, my heart was torn, for I was battling a crush on someone else that was tearing me apart from the inside out. It was dramatic–rife with secrets, assumptions and mixed signals. And while the tall, handsome, stoic man was patient enough to wait for me until February, when I finally demanded he come to my place for dinner, I still couldn’t find the conviction that I needed to be rid of my crush for good. Yet I prepared for our date. I bought a good cut of meat at the St. Lawrence Market in preparation. I thought of wine pairings. And all the while I wondered what if?

And as I wondered more and more, my head clouded over and finally I sent him a message, days before we were to have a proper romantic date, canceling the whole thing.

That’s when I looked at the date and realized how cruel I was for doing that.

Days before Valentine’s Day I rejected this tall, handsome, stoic man with the only explanation being that I had to follow my heart and all that really meant was that my heart was not tugged in his direction.

I suppose it was karma that a few weeks later I experienced one of the most painful rejections of my adult life. I chased the pavement after the crush that I chose only to be left rejected and humiliated on the streets of King and Spadina on a Saturday night, cars honking their displeasure at being stuck in traffic long enough to watch my humiliation.

Would I have regretted my decision to “follow my heart” had it lead to the right choice? Of course not. Or maybe I would wonder what if anyway. But I had to make a choice that Valentine’s. It ended up being the wrong one, but that’s what happens sometimes.  You can’t predict these things, but it should never stop you from wanting romance in your life. After all, it makes it so exciting!

This year I have a Valentine and I’m utterly smitten with him. There’s no battle in my heart this time around. He’ll be my Valentine and I’ll be his.