Romance puzzles me. Gushy feelings seem useless to me. I rarely feel any intense sort of feelings for anyone, even for my husband, and when deciding whether or not to continue a relationship of any kind, I’m very pragmatic and logical about it. Almost mechanical and mathematical even.
My criteria isn’t love because I don’t feel love differently for anyone. I love my son, I love my husband, I love my cats, I love my friends, I love my computer, I love tomatoes, and it’s all the same. It’s not some intense sensation that moves me to tears, but instead can best be described as a gentle warming of my heart.
Not romantic, just love.
And because romance puzzles me so much, I used to hate Valentine’s Day. I’d have anti-Valentine celebrations where I’d make cookies that said things like, “Fuck off loser” and “Divorce is the best part of marriage.”
It seemed pointless, an artificial way to boost a relationship funk. And it still seems pointless, but I’m much more laid back about it now. If someone is into it, then they’re into it. It’s cool.
This morning, when I got up, my husband was playing video games, his cousin was picking up her boys who my husband babysits when she works third shift, and it was basically just like every other day in our lives. Because of the nature of our marriage, big displays of…
