How My S.A.D. Turned Glad!

The fourteenth day of February has long been declared S.A.D. by countless singles on both sides of the sex. Single Awareness Day, also known as Valentine's Day by those lovey-dovey, ooey-gooey, mushy-gushy couples lucky enough to be in love, has always been just that to me. I am made brutally aware that I will not receive any cute button-nosed bears or heart-strewn Hallmark cards. I have always scoffed at the sentiments, but deep down I envy the recipients of that overpriced fodder. My entire life has been spent bemoaning ad naseum the unfair lonliness of those poor unfortunate souls who have no one on this day reserved exclusively for pairs.

Every year in highschool I silently cursed my peers as they walked through the hallways, oohing and ahhing over their roses and chocolate. It didn't matter that I swore I'd never WANT roses and chocolate, abhorring the typical cliche - as long as they had it and I didn't I stuck out my bottom lip and sulked until, thank goodness, hell finally came to an end.
The worst ever was my senior year, when I was confined to the gym for fourth block. As if being in that stinky, sticky, sweaty room wasn't bad enough, I was forced to watch as the Ringgold Florist unloaded bouquet after bouquet, those silly hearts and ridiculous balloons like Cupid's vomit all over the bleachers.
I pretended not to care, tried to ignore the stupid tears that stung the backs of my eyes as I watched the line form, my friends giggling in delight over their "Okay I got you flowers now what are you gonna do for me" arrangements.
It couldn't get worse, I thought as I escaped to the parking lot, glad to be rid of the nonsense.
"Meredith, wait! We got you something!" My heart jumped at the familiar voice and I turned to see two of my best friends, Austin and Angel, beckoning me to their cars. Thank goodness, at least SOMEONE cared, even if they were more like my brothers. The closer I got, though, I detected mischief in their gleaming eyes, Angel's hands behind his back as he smirked at me. I knew that look too well.
"Oh no," I lamented. "What did you get me?"
With a flourish they presented me with the one gift I ever received on Valentine's Day - a lip-print-boxer-clad, tapered-waisted Grow-A-Date.
They burst into laughter while I tried to refrain from bursting into tears, knowing they meant no harm and strangely comforted that at least they understood my pain even if they didn't exactly know how to make it better.
I never grew my date; I suppose I had hope that maybe, just maybe, I'd actually get a date for that day I have always loathed.

Years of empty 2/14's passed, and then one day, after a long layover in Milwaukee and a few flirtatious exchanges with a handsome Scotsman who now resides there, I had a glimmer of something that looked like a potential date for Cupid's holiday - and a life sized one at that.
And finally, just when I had almost become a bitter cynic, my doorstep was littered with a beautiful bouquet of purple tulips, the color and flower a perfect compliment to my tastes. Granted, I had to go to Wisconsin to find a guy who ACTUALLY wanted to go out with me, but here I am, incandescently happy to have someone special to spend V Day with. AND he's European - a born romancer!
Although it was twenty two years in the making (yes, I count the years I was little - remember the "aww" invoking kids on the front of every sweet card, their lips barely touching in an innocent kiss? Romance can happen at ANY time, people!) I have finally scored a decent man. My minutes shall be filled with whispered sweet nothings, my hours complete with long kisses and soft touches.

And that is how, after many a rejection, my S.A.D. finally became GLAD!

Hell, I deserve it.