I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m not a big fan of all that lovey-dovey crap that other people call romance. I’m the girl who hates getting flowers, would be more concerned about the poor guy’s ruined pants when he gets down on one knee, will think of WWI/II when people say V-Day, and (honest to Chanel) told her boyfriend that she didn’t want to see him on Valentine’s Day. Oh, and did I mention that little love letter I set on fire last year? Yeah. It happenned.
My attitude towards romance hasn’t really changed over the years, but lately I’ve been questioning why exactly I feel this way. Most people assume that I can’t stand romance because I’m bitter, I’ve never had someone love me that way, I choose the wrong men, etc. Sure that could be a reason, but I don’t think it’s that easy. Even though my romantic endeavors have all gone down in flames, I still have examples of unconditionally loving relationships in my life. My parents’ relationship is the big example, and I feel like their attitude towards love is what I base mine off of. They love eachother, but there’s no drama – whether good or bad.
Their realistic relationship prides routine (like customized anniversary dragons) over extravagance (like weekly romantic dinners out). They do get annoyed with eachother (like the time my mother made homebaked croutons, and my father announced that he didn’t like croutons), but they bypass all the drama with stability. Even their wedding was no nonsense: they signed the papers at the house we still live in, with only their closest friends in attendance and a potluck dinner to celebrate. And our first dog was the bridesmaid. Yet, they're the ones who have stayed together forever while others get divorced.
|image from Tumblr.|