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.
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| image from Tumblr. |
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