I have a very sad tendency to seduce myself first....
Since I was seven, I dressed up for Valentine's Day. I had a hot pink polyester day dress that screamed to the world "LOVE ME." I recall also making myself large cards out of silver and gold doilies and spreading them out on my desk at preschool. On February 14th I am Barbara Cartland personified, I am also free of denim: the anti-norm core. Every year without fail I have to dress like a combination between Pearl Lowe and Mary Pickford.
Because...romance.
This Sunday, almost husband will definitely have forgotten what day it is and no dinner plans will be made. At all. So....instead of playing wallflower I have already got a bottle of Perrier Jouet rosé stashed at the back of the lemon yellow SMEG and my favourite pair of Valentino "Rock Stud" pumps to wear with a simple lace dress. I swear I bought those shoes because they had a tacky style name. Anyway...Yes it is overkill. But I just as easily flip an omelette wearing polka dot chiffon Fifi knickers trimmed in lipstick red lace as in grey Muji underpants. How can anyone on earth except Gwyneth have rampant standing up in the kitchen sex in grey marle???
I need loads of really obvious visual triggers, And, sadly, so does he.
BANG. BANG, BANG. WIMPER and SIGH.
The almost husband will hear a champagne cork pop. Then smell onions sizzling, then a waft of Shalimar, he might see that indeed I am wearing a velvet choker and the sun has not yet set…then, Jesus finally, he will hear his favourite gloomy Joy Division chorus and the penny might just drop.
"Oh".
"Yeah".
Girls. We're never going to change.