It’s February. It’s Valentine’s. For singletons, Cupid is busy taking his aim and for those content in coupledom, it’s meant to be a chance to remind one other of our undying love.
However, thanks to what appears to have been appalling foresight on my part, Valentine’s is a bit of a non-starter for me. It all begins with having a wedding anniversary on the 1st January which, it turns out, is much is the same as having a birthday anywhere near 25th December. It falls hot on the heels of a big Christmas spend-up, so anniversary gifts are all too easily abandoned. And with New Year hang-overs also having their say, candlelit dinners are also a dead end. Trouble is, by the time Valentine’s comes around, the ‘anniversary-which-wasn’t-really-one’ is forgotten about by both of us. The domino effect being that we don’t celebrate Valentine’s either because ‘we’ve only recently had our anniversary’….and to think I thought the best bonus to a wedding on the 1st January was that neither of us would ever forget an all-important date!
But (and here’s the soppy bit) just as illustrated in those enduring and iconic Love Is… comic strips, what we all know in our hearts is that grand romantic gestures are not what makes a relationship. It is, of course, the simple deeds and uniquely shared moments – however quirky – which we all really cherish. Bearing that in mind, this New Year’s romance came in the strangest of guises: the Onesie. Our loungewear mutual gifts to one another started out as something of a novelty value festive joke. But who knew cwtching up in all-in-ones together watching Breaking Bad could be as fulfilling an anniversary as sipping champagne amidst sweet smelling roses?
I should probably say at this point that I’ve been banned from publishing photographic evidence – but it does alway help in the romance stakes when you are blessed with a husband that can look irritatingly handsome even in a jumpsuit which makes most of us (including me) look like a tele-tubby.
I appreciate we are a little late to the Onesie party. And to twerking twenty-somethings out there, our arrival is probably as cringeworthy as your mum joining Facebook. But after plucking up the courage to reveal my guilty fashion pleasure it turns out, for the thirty-something, this is in fact the year of the Onesie. Despite initial embarrassment, a good dozen of our friends have also reluctantly admitted to sporting the new Christmas gifts. And all of them, true romantics. Bring on the 14th 😉 …
Remember you can also read my column monthly in Cardiff Life magazine.