Eureka.

I have to admit this year that I enjoy Platonic Valentine's Day. Normally-way-too-bright red and pink color combinations, cheap candy, cupcakes, cheerfulness. All good. It's the overpriced roses, packed restaurants, girls-are-supposed-to-all-want-diamond-jewelry, consumerist, "once again, let us remind you that you fail at performing your own gender" version of VDay that irks me.

(Just cut most of my hair off again, so I feel this particularly keenly at the moment. I prefer it this way and think it suits me, but I also feel that expressing my tomboyishness is one of the things I tacitly agreed to give up in order to marry the person I married. I feel as though I'm going back on the deal, having my cake and eating it too.)

Anyway.

Big dinner out tomorrow with a bunch of friends-of-acquaintances. I go nearly every year because This Is Supposed To Be Fun, even though it stresses me out. I've decided to focus on the fact that the restaurant - a Brazilian churrascaria, a.k.a. All of the Roasted Meats* - is freaking awesome. I strive to ignore the social awkwardness of being the random neighbor/stranger in a group of unbelievably tight lifelong friends. Even if I don't say a word, I want to not care because of The Gourmet Experience.

In summation...cake... barbecue. Uh...I'm not even hungry. Thank you, goodnight.


* They do this on the first Friday of Lent every year just to be contrary. There's a fair number of ex-Catholics in my orbit. Sorry.