Ma Vie Amoureuse: The Valentine's Day Edition

This is my weekend off when I'd normally visit Vienna from Friday to Monday, however I arrived here last night because all the valentine's day celebrating couples had basically caused Ryanair and all the other airlines to massively increase their fares. I had no choice but to use up one of my precious annual leave days to make sure I could get the cheaper ticket for yesterday, and because I was leaving earlier than normal, I had to make sure I finished all the things I needed to do at work. On top of this I've been quite ill, so I decided to skip my weekly language review post this week. Ironic isn't it, that I caught the flu over the weekend, just after having put up the post about being in a better state health-wise. Apparently this is what happens when you start working in paediatrics; my colleagues keep telling me that I just need time to strengthen my immune system. On the plus side, I think I've discovered the troika that is the ultimate cure for flus: rest, fruits and fluids in massive quantities, and anti-inflammatories. I recovered very quickly and I'm happy to know that I'm slowly developing immunity to every virus or bacteria known to man.

 

Ok, on to today's topic. It's the big V this weekend (valentine's day to those who have been living under a big fat rock), so I thought I'd share the story of the one and only time I "participated" in this feast of love and lovers. Hang on a minute Clara, I hear you say, only once? But Clara you are 30, how is this possible? Well I am here to divulge all. See I was that geeky girl that had zero interest in boys all through secondary school; I can remember even getting a letter from a neighbour boy and being very embarrassed about it. I was 16 at that point and hadn't even noticed that said boy was on the same planet as me and attended the same church! I remember reading it quietly in my dormitory, then laughing at his poetic use of language, I believe one of the lines was about feeling obliged to reveal his emotions "just as women had to reveal their pregnancy after 9 months." In the end I think I shared the letter with one or two friends then destroyed it. To my eternal shame, I then went back home and either fled or completely ignored the poor boy each time I saw him. 

Later, newly arrived in England, I went to school for the first time and met Dave who told me he lived near me, volunteered to help me settle in and would walk almost home everyday. It was only in our second year of A levels that I found out he lived nowhere near me, and that he'd actually had a crush on me. Me I just thought all English kids were kind and well-brought up lol! Apart from Nick, my very close friend with whom I went swimming and who I had a brief crush on, this was the extent of my amorous life until I turned 22 and went to live in Stockholm for the year. I arrived in August, met  Finnish H in September and started my first ever relationship almost immediately. Now there is a stereotype about Scandanavian men being cold emotionally, but I think the poor boy met his match in me. I remember the first time he told me that he loved me, and the horrible silence that followed, before I managed to gather myself and reply very primly "thank you." I am not the demonstrative of people, so as you can imagine, we were never on the same page in that aspect of things.

Anyway February soon rolled by, and I recall walking back from Uni after classes and seeing all these dressed up men, rushing around with varying sizes of bouquets. I clearly remember wondering who had died? Imagine my surprise when I got home to find H waiting for me by my door (having not called me to ask about coming over), holding a single rose. My people I looked at the boy strangely and asked him why he was there? Anyway long story short, he reminded me that it was valentine's day and we needed to do something yada yada yada.... I sha felt so bad about the whole thing that I rushed out the next day and bought him an inappropriately expensive perfume, in order to assuage my guilt. After that, I made sure I always sent a short "happy valentine's day" message to whoever I was dating, but that is it. I honestly never want to experience that feeling of guilt and embarrassment again.

Oya over to you blog-fam. What are your most memorable valentine's day stories? Please share. Thank you/Oshey/Merci/Grazie/Danke Schön!