Sour grapes

Is it weird if I’m actually glad that A. doesn’t “do” Valentine’s day? To be strictly honest, I guess a tiny part of me wouldn’t mind a card or a little unusual gift on the day. But the larger part of me (and no, I’m not referring to my bum!) was actually relieved that there wasn’t any red roses, or heart-shaped chocolates, or an overpriced bottle of perfume (that I’d have to later return for credit). Instead, last Sat was just a day like any other day. And having spent the whole week before then together, he decided to spend the day with his brother’s family. And I was hanging out with my girls until midnight, bitching about boys & life in general. As you do.

I could go on about how I don’t buy into the whole commercialism of these days. When people (and in most cases, men) are passive-aggressively forced into showcasing their love, most of the time following a preset format of what their partners are “supposed” to fancy. Like how the guy who jumps on Interflora to send flowers to his girl’s office gets more credit than the one who picks some from his garden and secretly leaves them at her doorstep. Or how a girl would coo about a full-on passionate kiss in public, but would barely notice his absent-minded peck on the back of her neck while they’re waiting in a queue.

I probably won’t need to tell you which ones I’d prefer. That’s just me. And I’m an oddity, as someone has so lovingly observed (!!) But you’re more than welcome to roll your eyes and think of me as a stupid try-hard who only vies to be different. Or you can use this line, as a woman said on a forum one time, when I — among many others — banged on about how we’re totally indifferent towards diamonds, “Oh, just a case of sour grapes!” 😉

~coral~

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