Throughout college I half-heartedly sort of dated this guy who drifted in and out of my life in inconvenient intervals. By my senior year he was finally gone for good, and I was wearing black on Valentine's Day and saying things like, "Romance is dead. It's been homogenized and sold off by Hallmark and Disney, piece by piece." And by the last month of school when a guy in my music class asked me out, I inwardly groaned. I mean, I had no objections to him personally or anything, but I had no interest in anyone who would only be Transitional Man at best.
Then my RA said, "Oh Alice, just go out with him. Show him Moody women aren't all bad." With that dubious gauntlet thrown down, I took the challenge. I agreed to go out with him, and we stayed out all night talking. There just wasn't enough time to get everything we wanted said. We've been talking ever since. A few years after that, he worked two jobs and sold his beloved drums to buy me a diamond ring (and for any O. Henry fans out there, no, I didn't cut off my hair and sell it to buy him a chain for his pocket watch).
Seventeen years later, he still tells me he loves me every day, and he shows me in many ways. Just the other day he got up and went outside in the bitter cold at 5:30 in the morning to make sure the iPod was working in my car so I would have music to listen to on the way to work. He is kind and generous and funny and takes really good care of me.
So, happy Valentine's Day, Scooby. Thanks for showing me romance isn't dead. I'm glad you weren't transitional.