With these words echoing still around the house, like a conversation on Skype, Scrooge retired to bed. Immediately he fell asleep to keep the length of this story down.
As he lay in fitful slumber, a noise awoke him.
“Whose there?” Scrooge asked nervously.
“Who’s there” came the reply for, unlike the writer of this story, the first spirit was a stickler for good grammar. “’Tis I, the spirit of Valentine’s past come to show you things about your childhood that are pertinent to the current feelings you have about this time of year”.
Romance was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of it’s burial was signed by the clergy, the media, the government, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was good upon ‘Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Romance was as dead as the flowers you get from a garage.
Scrooge was a miserly and grumpy sod, his chief dislike of Valentine’s day came from the soppy behaviour of others on this special day. And also the crass obligation people feel to buy stuff for others, his two dislikes were soppiness and obligations; and the constant coverage it seemed to get on the internet. His three dislikes were soppiness, obligation and bloggers; and teddy bears holding hearts.
It is Valentine’s Eve in Maison-G and there are no last minute panics about tomorrow. No rushing out to the garage for flowers or desperately trying to find some thick paper to print off a home card.
It is because we don’t do Valentine’s day, and not just because we are married, we have never even attempted to do it. We didn’t even rely on the excuse of being separated by the Atlantic, thousands of miles of water are not the reason we don’t buy overpriced chocolate or twee cards.
Now that we are married we get the chance to be all romantic on Valentines Day, but we get to something a lot more fun. We get to ignore it.