If we're being honest, Valentine's day tends to pass me by a bit. As a teenager, I remember getting excited about it, only to face the realisation that it was going to be yet another year without receiving a card (although I gave a few). Heck, it was yet another year without even the merest sniff of a boyfriend, so I suppose fair's fair. But it is hard to stand by and watch others gleefully receiving when you are not. When Mike and I began going out during our uni days, I eagerly anticipated my first Valentine's card. I could not believe how upset I felt when, after handing over a lovingly and painstakingly selected card - just the right hint of intimacy but with a certain sangfroid - and gift, it slowly dawned on me that Mike was standing there looking pained. He had forgotten. He tried to pass it off, as did I, but it was too late. I had a severe case of wobbly lip and was stifling tears. A hastily drawn heart on a piece of card was proffered. It wasn't be
because everyone deserves a little sweetness in their life