I thought it bad enough that I couldn’t remember what day of the week it was; then I saw a shelf of red hearts in the supermarket, and realised that Valentine’s Day is right around the corner.
Apparently, not even COVID can stop Cupid’s arrow from flying, although social distancing and dating might make the path to true love a bit rocky. Can a negative LFT prerequisite for romantic tête-à-têtes be far behind?
“Yes, I’d love to meet you for a sunset cocktail. Just bring a copy of your recent rapid antigen test or a QR code from Health Services Authority, and let’s get this party started!”
Based on letters from Cayman Compass readers, it seems that getting seriously ill from coronavirus exposure isn’t the only good reason to follow mask mandates. Quarantining in the home; keeping relationships with friends sweet so they’ll pick up groceries and prescriptions; and covering a giant corkboard with headshots, pictures of venues, and red thread crisscrossing them all in a ‘Law & Order’-meets-amateur-contact-tracing pattern, can’t be good for anyone’s psyche.
We’re all pretty weary of the status quo and now 14 Feb. is looming on the radar… how much more can we take?
Okay, so perhaps I’m being a LITTLE dramatic when it comes to Valentine’s Day, but just like other celebratory dates on the calendar, people’s opinions of them differ greatly, depending on their past experiences.
For starters, I find it hard to accept that boyfriends breaking up with me by mid-January at the latest was just a coincidence. Sure, if a guy weighs the cost of flowers and a box of chocolates against just getting out early – and chooses the latter – odds are good he’s not a keeper; I get that. And even if he DID stick around, am I really one of those people who puts a huge amount of stock into the whole myth of Valentine’s? Not really – I think at the time I was like George Costanza in that ‘Seinfeld’ episode, ‘The Susie’. He deliberately avoided his girlfriend Allison (who was clearly going to end the relationship), so she’d have to attend an important event with him, where he expected her to make a twirling entrance in a backless dress.
(Of course, ‘Seinfeld’ enthusiasts will remember that in the end, Allison got Kramer to break up with George on her behalf.)
In the same way, I wasn’t so much bothered about the long-term future of our romance; I just thought it would be nice to be part of a couple on the big night so people no longer saw me as Love Kryptonite.
I’m sure I’ve told this other tale before, but it’s so brilliantly typical of my life, I can’t resist repeating it. Besides, the guy has left the island, so the only person I’m embarrassing is myself.
Many years ago, I had a bit of a crush on a man I knew from work (one of my evening jobs), and I decided that I would send him flowers anonymously for Valentine’s Day. I told a couple of friends I could trust, who worked at the same place, and the plan was that they would call me to let me know his reaction.
The roses arrived, apparently they had a very favourable response, things were looking good.
That same night, we were all attending a concert on the island, and he was there. After the usual small talk, I steered the conversation to the date it just happened to be, and he immediately raised the subject of the mystery blooms he had received earlier in the day. It was so lovely, what a great surprise, who could possibly have sent them, etc.
The band on stage was playing a romantic song – possibly something by Air Supply – the moon was glowing, the stars were twinkling, and a soft breeze wafted in across the sea, carrying the promise of new courtships with a hint of amour. This was my moment.
I looked deep into his eyes. “The flowers,” I whispered, “were from me.”
He looked back at me, beautiful brown peepers sparkling, and said…
“Seriously?? Oh man, that is so sweet! You are so cute,” while, at the same time, actually rubbing my head with his fist, noogie-style.
Uh-oh.
Yada, yada, yada… I sang at his wedding years later.
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