'Tis the day that could be the very blight of humanity's compassion.
The day of Hallmark love. Allow me.
If you're not one of the Smug Couplings out there and face this day with fear and loathing [in Las Vegas,] then don't bother reading this post. I love love too much to miss this opportunity folks. And hey, even if I was in love with a statue that didn't return my feelings - this is me, pondering love on Love Day.
Firstly, to the person who makes my legs feels like noodles:
Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for understanding me, knowing more about me each day and still loving me all the same. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for so many things. You're my favourite curly-haired, Little Britain-loving, cricket playing, Eastern Cape accented, merino wool-wearing, techno-listening, drum & bass knee-dancing man, in the whole world. I just frigging adore you.
Bless your cotton wifebeater. The one you wear just to get my reaction. And I don't think I'm alone here. With that reaction.
Right, so what is love? (Baby don't hurt me.....)There're a million and one definitions of love, so here're mine:
Love is finding his untimely flatulence adorable. Love is meeting someone on an aeroplane you didn't want to have anything to do with, then (ok.....this is embarrassing...)....then just before the return flight, spraying your perfume on the blazer he leant you over the weekend before you give it back to him. And my best mate caught me doing this. How embarrassing.
But what the hell, it's V-Day, so there you are.
What are you doing?
You just sprayed, ha ha ha, YOU JUST SPRAYED HIS BLAZER WITH CHANEL CHANCE, Oh My God Peas, that's hilarious.
No I didn't.
The bottle is in your hand, I just caught you, oh my God, you LIKE [Mr 747!]
NO. I DO NOT. I just wanted to make sure...it smelt nice before I return it. I WAS BEING CONSIDERATE, Poen.”
You like him, you like him, you like him...
OK shut the fuck up. I have to sit next to him again on the aeroplane. Please just hush. This is ludicrous anyway, we know I can't go there.
You like him, you like him...
WHA-EVA. ....But if you tell him, I'll die a slow and painful death in seat 15C.
Blind one. Love is letting them believe their historical fact is right, by pretending you know no different. Love is them feeding you, mouthful by mouthful, while you drive back from a party at 2:00am.
Love is physically aching when they're away. Love is still asking them how they take their tea, because sometimes they like milk and sometimes they don't. Love is sucking it up when they see ex's, but still getting jealous deep down inside.
Love is somehow managing to pop their name into a sentence every five minutes. Meetings, bathroom queues, the Samoosa Lady... Love is not only accepting their bunion, but finding it sexually attractive.
Love is feeling projected and endless sadness for them when they're sad. Love is thinking about their legs All. Day. Long.
Love is them being the first person you call when:
You get big news
Have a crisis
Have to tell someone something hilarious
Sky News says another tube caught on fire [Love is] Two persons who have chosen each other out of all the species with a design to be each other's mutual comfort and entertainment have, in that action, bound themselves to be good-humored, affable, discreet, forgiving, patient, and joyful, with respect to each other's frailties and perfections, to the end of their lives. - Joseph Addison.
For the Lionel Richie in all of us. (He lives within. He does. You just deny him that's all).
Happy Valentine's Day!