Hopeless (un)Romantic

That's us.

Every morning of our honeymoon, we asked God to send someone our way who needed encouragement. Without fail, we'd go all day without any encounters. Every night in the jacuzzi, someone would bare their souls to the starry-eyed newlyweds.

We went out on Valentine's Day. 

Once. 
Our first year of marriage we decided to try out this whole "Valentine's Date" thing (because that's what couples do). We went to a local brewery. The food tasted the same as it does the other 364 days of the year, and we ended up spending the evening talking to a homeless guy outside of the building.

One year we went out for Valentine's Day on the 13th.

Because they were running a special that day.

A few years back, we planned a romantic weekend getaway for our anniversary. We chose a gorgeous destination and booked the cheapest a quaint cabin. Imagine our surprise when we unlocked the door to find bunk beds, two twin beds and no bathroom ventilation.*

How romantic.

He buys me the closed flowers that bloom a day or so after delivery. I like them because it makes me feel like maybe I have a green thumb farther down the hypodermis layer. I like flowers, not because I think they are romantic, but because I feel accomplished if I get the suckers to bloom before they wilt.

No. We're not your ordinary brand of romantics. I'd like to think romance is unique to each couple, just as a snowflake floating on winter's breath is singularly remarkable in it's composition. If romance is a dance, some couples are a swingin' while some of us are awkwardly doing "the penguin waddle" and just hoping to avoid bruised toes. The steps aren't as important as the one with whom you share the song. Where ever you are on the dance floor, enjoy boogie-ing as only you two can!

Doing A Jig,
Cynthia



*That explains the chortling in the background when I called to make the reservation.