Diary of a Homebird
TODAY is National Be Heard Day and National Cereal Day. It seems there is a day for everything, these days.
There’s National Pizza Day, National Compliment Day and even National Oreo Cookie Day (that was yesterday by the way). I don’t have a problem with any of these, because, well, I love food, and who doesn’t like a compliment.
Now, a day I do have a problem with is Valentine’s Day. I know, it has passed so I shouldn’t dwell, but seriously, why?
As a singleton, of course this day would annoy me (though frankly when I was in relationships I still hated the day). It’s a day created by card companies and a day when people spend extortionate amounts of money on flowers that are going to die days later.
This year, I spent Valentine’s Day in Dublin, staying with my sister and her family. I have to say it was surprisingly nice, all thanks to my godchild Saran.
Home from crèche she made a dash straight for my room – which she calls ‘the castle’, as it is rather Rapunzel-esque at the very top of the house – and I was greeted with her beaming up at me with a flower. She explained that the flower was for me, her mommy and her baby sister. How cute.
Still soaking up the warm fuzzy feeling, I returned to the laptop downstairs to chip away at the whole ‘getting a job’ thing. For the next 45 minutes though, my Valentine showered me with heart-shaped play dough. This time, I was assured the love-tokens were for me only. If that wasn’t enough, she even gave me a makeover, despite my protests. She has a bit to learn, especially about not stabbing me in the eye with makeup brushes, but give her time.
My Valentine’s affections for me can be changeable though. Over the past number of weeks she has asked my sister ‘Can Auntie Ciara wait here forever?’ (I could see the panic on my sister’s face), but the following week she was asking when was I leaving to go back to ‘Nana and Granda’s house’.
Still, I should have stuck to being showered with gifts on Valentine’s Day. Instead I popped down to Dundrum Shopping Centre to pick up a few bits. Bad choice. There was me, the Grinch of St Valentine’s Day, surrounded by loved-up couples holding hands and holding flowers. Uggh. Instead of casting a plague of locusts on them, I wished for worse, I wished a trip to Ikea on all of them. You see Ikea is where couples go to bicker about bath mats and break up. ‘Muhahaha,’ said my inner evil Disney villain.
And off I went home to play third wheel at my sister and her husband’s Valentine’s dinner. In my defence, I cooked the dinner.
Previous Valentine’s Days have included a letter from Slimming World, a letter from Knock Marriage Bureau and a birthday card with a fish on the front. How romantic. Oh and last year I dressed up as a dead air hostess. (With Ballinrobe Musical Society, just so we’re clear.)
Taking all that into consideration, a shared flower, some heart-shaped dough and a makeover by a three year old actually made it the best Valentine’s Day yet.
> In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old still living with her parents.