Hearts are already beginning to throb with Valentine’s Day a scant two weeks away. That old “Will I have a date on the big day?” ache is vying for time on sleepless nights, according to social media.
Yet, there are times when no is the best answer.
I was just shy of 13 when my then-crush accepted my invitation to a Valentine’s Day Sadie Hawkins Day dance. I wasn’t allowed to date yet, but since my parents knew Billy’s parents, and it was a well-chaperoned event, it was deemed OK. My mother said I was too young for kitten-heeled shoes, but bought me my first ever stockings to wear with my lavender dress.
On the day of the dance, I was caressing the silky stockings laid out on my bed when the phone rang. I had been on the phone all morning exchanging details of the big night with my girlfriends.
But this time the caller was Billy.
His voice was barely a whisper as he broke our date – and my heart. I was sobbing so hard when I called my mother that she came rushing home to comfort me.
As an aside, only a year later, the girl who wasn’t old enough to wear high heels managed to wrangle her way in to see Elvis Presley and receive her first boy-girl kiss from the King. Look at me now, Billy.
My second Valentine fiasco found me drenched in a rainstorm that was melting my expensive Greek curl hairdo. It was my first Valentine’s Day since moving to New York, and I was thrilled when Jerry asked me on a date. We were both editorial assistants, first jobs out of college, in a midtown publishing company.
I had spent a week’s salary on my hair, a new dress and a cute pair of silver strappy sandals. This time, I was finally old enough to wear high heels. Since Jerry was a New Yorker, I was sure he knew all the best places to celebrate. I pictured a club with music and red hearts and roses on the tables. But he decided to take me to a party at his friend’s house in Queens.
I immediately panicked since he didn’t know about my claustrophobia and that I never took subways. I tried to stay calm when we stepped out into the rain, and my sandals filled with water as we walked to the subway station. I had a moment of wondering if I’d rather jump in front of the train or actually get on and watch the doors lock me in. I stood so close to the doors that I almost fell out when they opened at our stop.
Above ground, we tried to hail a cab, with about 100 other not-so-romantic-anymore drenched couples. By this time, my once cool, calm date was shouting obscenities at anyone getting into a taxi before he could grab it.
All I could think about was the nightmare of getting back on the subway to go home. It wasn’t exactly the night of my dreams, but at least I had a Valentine’s date – and he showed up. “We’ll laugh about this someday,” Jerry said.
He was right.
Email [email protected]. Follow her on Patriciabunin.com
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