While other women across the world are at the salon today, waxing, highlighting, bleaching, straightening, curling, and polishing in preparation for a big night, I am at home, on my bed, watching sappy, ridiculous love stories on television in a baseball cap, sweaty from my treadmill run and trying to hide watery eyes from my kids.

My heart jumped as I heard the dog go into a panicked “someone’s on the front porch” mode. As the FedEx truck disappeared, I saw the familiar florist’s box leaning against the door and happily brought the bulky long package inside. The box was full of flowers and chocolates and Valentine’s Day greetings… for the kids, from their dad.


I did, however, get a package yesterday straight from London from Mr. Nice Guy, filled with decadent chocolate treats and a postcard from the UK. He’s an unbelievable man.

And I just now got a text from the Belgian, which went a very long way to improve my mood on this horrible, disgusting holiday.

Two wonderful men – 3,000 miles away in opposite directions.

And so, I spend another Valentine’s Day alone, because I’ve yet to meet an available, local man I can love as much as these.

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