Facebook is riddled with romantic photos of flowers and chocolates and 'Isn't my man the greatest?!'

That's all well and good.  I'm happy for you, Facebook braggarts.

Guess what I got this fine Valentine's Day?

Nothing.

And everything.


I slept in until 10:30 am.  Glorious!

I slipped into a bubble bath and watched Netflix until 11:45 am.  Divine!

I made banana pancakes and mini sizzler sausages and chopped raw strawberries and mixed up hot chocolate with mini marshmallows and sat around the table with my four most favourite people in the world.  Delightful!

We locked the bedroom door and...  Perfect!

I retreated to my writing room, turned up the heat and wrote for four hours {interrupted only to chop up a pile of vegetables and get some soup bubbling on the stove to be ready for dinner}.  Inspiring!

I fed those mouths again and we laughed at each others weirdness again and they all thanked me again.  Awesome!

Perhaps it's not the most romantic of days.

Or perhaps it is.
 
I don't need to be anyone's Valentine.  I'm quite happy being someone's forever.