me: i want streamers, pink streamers that go all the way across the ceiling and all the way down to the floor. i want pink bears, four huge pink bears, one in each corner of the room, and a pink disco ball sprinkling pink light all over the room, and a stereo playing Carrie Underwood. … what do you want for valentines day?

him: not to have to do any of that.

me: done.

little did i realize when i was a moony thirteen year old, upset that all my friends were “falling in love” while i wasn’t — while, in fact, the only boy who had professed love for me was a tall drink of water at summer camp who didn’t know how else to say “please take your shirt off,” the dumb punk — that the ideal valentines day is when you feel no pressure to do anything. in fact i’m going drinking with a couple girls from The Nation after work (sugar-free cranberry juice for me, please!). maybe i’ll learn something!

technically, i guess, i’m also cheating. i don’t have to care about v-day because several days thereafter, mr. ben and i will turn six years old. that seems much more significant to me. six years old, ready for first grade and, apparently, marriage. and if, on a valentines day six years ago, some girl hadn’t coldly turned down a rose offered by mr. ben, none of this would have happened. imagine.