Valentine’s Day is, at best, a problematic day for me.

In my distant past, it was painful: because my Wonder Years occurred in a time before anyone was sensitive to kids’ self-esteem being propped up artificially, there were no dictates from the nuns about bringing a Valentine for every kid in the class. Which meant that some kids got tons of Valentines, and some kids…not so much.

Three guesses as to which kid I was.

As a teen, my high school instituted the concept of buying carnations to be delivered throughout the day to admirers. Again, some girls walked out with an armful of ’em. Some girls…not so much.

Three guesses as to which girl I was.

As a young adult, I got payback with a vengeance when I managed to insanely and insensitively wind up with THREE dates for Valentine’s Day, like some sort of absurd sitcom. Unfortunately, the payback was visited on three guys who did nothing to make me surly about Valentine’s Day, which explains the karmic horror show the day has become in recent years.

Quite simply: Dad, Interrupted and I are cursed on this day. It’s easy to understand, when one of the best VDs we ever had was the one where we wound up walking the neighborhood at around 11 pm with a city sewage inspector trying to find out where the sewer smell was coming from. One of the worst was when Dad, Interrupted had to euthanize his dog and I wound up with my Valentine crying his eyes out in the garage.

Good times.

So I approached yesterday with trepidation: what was it going to be? Sewer smell? Dead dog? (Cue Elmer hiding under the couch)

No, it was a Keurig coffee maker delivered directly to my office by handsome men who took me out for fish tacos afterward. Followed by a simple dinner and more handsome men taking me to the movies to see The Lego Movie.

So, not only the Besst of Yesterday, but the Besst Valentine’s Day in a very, very long time.

What is the Besst project?

© E. Stocking Evans 2014