When I tell people Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday, they expect me to be a hopeless romantic, or to say some bullshit like, “I just love my friends so much!” No. I love Valentine’s Day because I love myself. I think everyone should be a little more self-obsessed, and Valentine’s Day offers the perfect opportunity to celebrate that obsession. But I didn’t always feel this way.
A decade later, I adhere to two strict Valentine’s rules. Number one: I buy myself a luxurious coffee. I don’t hold back. Quad shot? Raspberry syrup? Extra whip? Caramel drizzle? Why not! Happy Valentine’s Day, baby girl! Number two: I order myself a gift on the Internet. I’m not allowed to decide until the day of. It must be something I wouldn’t let myself buy any other day of the year. No responsible purchases! (Crock-pots or vacuums are not allowed.)
This Friday, I’ll wake up and decide where to get my decadent coffee. I’m not sure what I’ll do from there. Maybe I’ll draw comics in a cafe, or journal by the river. I’ll decipher what I most want, and then I’ll do it. In the evening I’ll put on sweatpants and click around the Internet for a token of my affection. I’ll know it when I see it. Then maybe I’ll order takeout or go to a drag show or crash a karaoke party or just drink a Diet Coke in the bathtub. Whatever happens, I know I’ll have a dreamy day all on my own. v
