Why I like Valentine's Day

17 years ago, I had a truly forgettable meal at an evil little diner called Zim's (no relation to the invader). Yet I remember the milk chocolate (colored) dress my companion wore. The way that the top buttons wouldn't stay fastened, giving me just the slightest hint of her unadorned cleavage, as she demurely re-fastened them.

I believe I wore tight 501 jeans, tears at the knees and up the thigh, and possibly an unconstructed grey jacket. The shirt, perhaps my blue plaid - a tiny plaid pattern and a favorite shirt of mine at the time. I might have even worn a tie. Probably a skinny tie - the white one, I think. To be honest, I was focused on my lovely companion and all memory of what I was wearing has apparently disappeared from my fragile cells. But I know what was in my wardrobe and what I would probably have picked.

The meal as I said was truly forgettable. Perhaps she had onion rings, and I'm sure I had some sort of beef. We probably talked a bit about Shadow, her "great bovine" of a black cat who was only too happy to be your pillow when he was inside, yet was the terror of the neighborhood outside. He wasn't really fat, just large - and, seriously, in charge. I expect we also talked about her charming and dashing friend Jason - well, recently my friend as well - and the party he was throwing, to which we would be bound, momentarily.

It's true, as I prepare to go to a party tonight, I am reminded of the last time I went to a Valentine's party - 17 years ago.

My companion and I had met through mutual friends, her room-mates, several weeks before. She was dark, mysterious, pale and quiet. Shrouded in her London Fog and shy demeanor, she provided few details to foreshadow the events that would unfold... ...A quaint circle of friends would meet almost every day in a tiny, warehouse-like coffee house, and sometimes we'd shoot pool in the evenings. I remember I had been a bit hung-up on some romantic involvements and was gradually kicking them to the curb. Then Jason sat down at table with us one morning and invited us all to his "unValentine" party. There would only be one couple that was permitted, because, well it wouldn't be cool not to invite them, but otherwise, it was a celebration of being single. We were all very excited to be going to a party where no one would care if we didn't have a "Valentine" for Valentines day. In fact it was preferred. YAYYYYY! No pressure. The invite must have been around Groundhog day, as I recall. But we know that my mind is as sharp as a spoon, and my memory as tight as a steel sieve, so we'll just wax right over the details, shall we?

Day after day, people would ask us, myself and the companion of whom I spoke, whether we were going to the party, and we both always answered in the affirmative. A few days along, suddenly there was a shift. people were asking us if we were going as a couple. Couple? But it's an UNValentine party. We cannot do that. And why would we, I mean, we weren't involved in even the slightest manner. We liked playing cards and eating chocolate and drinking coffee and sipping (at that time - shudder) Dewars or Scoresby blended scotch whisky on the rocks. And we regularly stayed up late talking and telling each other our ghost stories. But we were hardly a couple. After about the 6th person asked us, we decided we would go ahead and make it an "UNDate" to the "UNValentine" party. Jason accepted that, and we were golden.

But then, somewhere between leaving the orange, black and white logoed restaurant and standing waiting for our orange, black and white limousine, I realized that maybe the reason all these people thought we were dating was because we kind of were. I realized that I was attracted to her in my brain AND in my pants (it's true, my left kneecap would do a little jig whenever she entered the room). As we waited, I awkwardly put my arm around her. I hadn't done that maneuver "awkwardly" in YEARS, but there it was. We climbed aboard our electric chariot, and swished away over hills and valleys. Somewhere about the Park, we both apparently decided we had better kiss PRIOR to the party so as to get that bit out of the way. Perhaps it was an "UNKiss"?

To be perfectly honest, I remember almost nothing about the party. I believe I was holding a full glass of Dewars and in some random moment of chaos, my arm decided to spasm and the liquid flew high into the air. Jason laughed at me, topped up my glass and got a towel to mop the floor. Consummate host is he.

When it felt like time to go, we eventually found a suitable orange, black and white limo back to our neighborhood, and decided that it was not too late at night for a nightcap at my apartment. Switched on the TV and found "Psycho" waiting for us. As I recall, we didn't end up watching the whole thing. Kind of a shame, but... "my, what a pretty view out that window..."

So, 17 years later, I reflect on that party, and that date, and that kiss, and that cat (who met a sad demise which shall not be discussed herein), and even the friends who no longer are a couple. I reckon about the way my road has stretched out before me, and the way that times have been tough, and times have been easy, and the vista has been brilliant and beautiful, and the potholes were sometimes hazardous and horrendous. I consider that I couldn't have chosen a better road, though a few of the twists I'd prefer to have never seen. And I couldn't have chosen a better companion. Apparently, sometimes, I do make brilliant choices even though I don't have enough data.

The right companion will always make the journey worth the steps.