Post Facto

“You’re SO sappy,” my boyfriend told me last night. It was not an indictment. It was an endorsement.

“I’m not sappy. I am cynical and mean,” I protested.

Then, with a defeated sigh: “You make me sappy.”

It’s true that in daily life I run the gamut from wildly misanthropic, to reticently interested in humanity, to passionately curious about the inner lives of everyone around me. Mostly I’m cynical, because I have worked in service, retail, and hospitality my whole working life and I know that most people, unless they are consciously trying not to be, are big fat jerks.

But he makes me forget that.

Last year's Valentine's brunch in the sunroom.
Last year.

It’s my sigh of relief when he enters the room. It’s karaoke on Wednesday nights and the silliest version of “Yo Diggity” you’ll ever hear. The encouragement before auditions, the hand I always get to hold, the fact that he is the only person who gets as excited for Christmas as I do. It’s so much more. It’s everything.

I would be remiss if I didn’t take advantage of the existing reason to truly celebrate love, in the middle of this frigid gray winter which has not much else to punctuate its gloom, even if it is a manufactured “holiday.” Just because I’m talking about my boyfriend here doesn’t mean there isn’t an abundance of love to celebrate everywhere–you know when people are NOT big fat jerks? Like I said, when they are consciously trying not to be–when they love. Whatever that means to you.

So this is how I feel right now:

And I want to hang on to that feeling for a while.

Have a beautiful weekend. xx

PS If you’d like to ESCAPE the sappiness (and who could blame you?) here is a 400-year-old NSFW Valentine’s Day poem by Elizabethan poet Thomas Nashe. You’re welcome.