Evolution of Love

Valentine's Day is such a bloated and strange holiday. For years I have written blogs on that day, celebrating my singledom (or trying my darndest). This year I had a Valentine, a real Valentine, and my expectations...well, let's just say things didn't go as planned.

The Valentines I have had ranged from textbook romantic to....well, hardly romantic at all. The longest-running Valentine always felt the need to top himself and buy me jewelry and other expensive trinkets. I love jewelry, so I loved that about him. I have always imagined romance to be light, airy, and perfect. A cloud of pink and white, fluffy teddy bears and jewelry, flowers and candy. I blame the media.

This year, Valentine's Day coincided with our halfaversary (hey, the half-year mark seems legitimate. It's legitimate, right?) so we decided to combine them into a love extravaganza. However, my wonderful man decided to split them up anyway, which made me feel simultaneously bad for him but great for me, because I caught myself a good one! For our halfaversary, he got me a film I'd always mentioned I enjoyed and a stuffed animal. At the stuffed animal, I got a little taken aback.

Under the pink tissue, in the cute flower bag I'm sure he felt embarrassed purchasing, my boyfriend had gently laid a teddy bear face-down. I peered into the bag and saw pink material with red hearts. I cooed, pulled it out of the bag to face me...and gasped.

The stuffed animal had a skeleton on its face. A SKELETON. And not only on its face, I discovered. Its adorable body was overlaid with an eery skeleton over its legs. Taken aback, I laughed strangely and considered its face. I can't sleep with this thing, I decided. It's going to kill me in my sleep. I'm not going to be able to look at it, it's so creepy! My boyfriend was crestfallen. Here I am, his girlfriend of 6 months, afraid of his gift. I laughed it off, he offered to take it back, I jokingly yell at him for suggesting the thought, and I go home with the strangest thoughts in my head.

Who would think a skeleton stuffed animal is cute? I pulled it out of my bag on the way home and put it up on my dashboard, its frightening face in my direction. I named it Skullden, Skully for short, and call my boyfriend to thank him again for the wonderful gift.

On Valentine's Day, we spent a very low-key day together. We hung out in the morning watching TV on DVD. He made me breakfast and bought me flowers from CVS, which had red carnations and an already-wilting rose. I loved it.

Gift time. I had bought him little things, since we put a limit on our spending (Christmas got out of hand quickly). Most of the things I got had some sort of significance, which I thought was better than any expensive present. Then it was my turn.

Out of the bag comes a pink hoodie. I love pink, and I love sweatshirts, so I was automatically excited. I looked at the front, and there on the left side is TGS in red and orange bubbles, and the name Liz in script below. It was a hoodie from 30 Rock, my absolute favorite show of all time. Squealing with delight, I put it on and decided I would never take it off. I virtually didn't for weeks after that. I also got a flowering tea set, complete with a beautiful little glass teapot. He knew I wanted one, and it was thrilling.

I sleep with Skully next to me now. He has joined the other stuffed animals my boyfriend has gotten me...well, stuffed things. For Christmas, he got me stuffed animal sushi. They line up next to me and watch me sleep. I'm getting over the creepiness factor.

I was afraid to wash my TGS hoodie, afraid that the softness would fade, but finally gave in today. As soon as I opened my dryer, a sweet scent wafted toward me and I knew that I had washed my load of laundry with a cherry chapstick. Swearing loudly and repeatedly, I pulled everything out and threw them in the basket. Dark pink stains were splotched all over my precious hoodie. Still swearing and cursing my mother for not purchasing Spray 'n Wash, I ran upstairs and grabbed my toothbrush, ran downstairs and started going to work on my sweatshirt with detergent. The stains still haven't come out. I'll have to wash it again.

I know that after I wash it for the third time, the softness will virtually be gone. That's okay. I'm not sad about it anymore. Because this is the lesson I learned about love this Valentine's Day:

I love that he bought me a skeleton bear. I love that mistakes are made, things turn out disasterously wrong sometimes, and he is not a follower of traditions. He's better than that: he's himself. His mind works in mysterious ways, ways that I hardly have a grasp on but can't wait to discover. He doesn't do things because others have done it before, and he doesn't do things because he thinks I'll like them: he does them because he knows I will. He knows me, and he knows himself. And I love him for it.