By Jane Stahlheber
Valentine’s Day. I love it. The days of emotional turmoil and triggers that cause me pain around what many consider a contrived holiday are mostly behind me. Call me a hippie, if you like, but I find myself getting behind a reason to focus on and celebrate our love for one another.
I know, I grew up in the days of free love, when Prince Charming and happily ever after weren’t subjects to work through in therapy. And I still look for Mr. Right, or at least the occasional Mr. Right Now, which is diagnosed as impulsive, self-destructive behavior. Talk about Border(line) Control! (Hey, I may have a mental illness, but I am still glib.) I digress.
Valentine’s Day makes me think of the men in my life, although I am dating no-one. I blame the economy. These guys will call and text me and even stop by to see me sometimes when passing by my neighborhood. One will cook for me and take me out to lunch for my birthday. Others show they care by keeping their distance, which is Greek to me. The homeless guy I met yesterday wanted to lasso the moon and cover me with kisses. His name was Christian; he made me think of Jesus.
I think I may be confused. It appears I no longer speak Dating. Yet, despite my almost complete lack of gaydar, I have pretty good hetero-radar. Oh well. Even though I no longer expect cards or flowers or chocolates or jewelry or stuffed animals (thank God for that one) or nights out or movies in, I still believe in love.
Am I crazy? Yes, but I’ve also improved my friend speak.