What Happens on Valentine’s Day Stays On…
A couple of nights ago, at some point between Anne Hathaway and Julia Roberts, I think my Y chromosome pulled a muscle or at least had a night off.
It was Saturday night, Match of the Day had been offered to me on a plate and what did I do?
Suggested we watched a film and agreed to “Valentine’s Day”. (It’s not the shock of this that has had me blog free for a week or so, that has been caused by work interfering with my daydreaming and mooching).
Saturday night. The twins were asleep. Didsbury Son was at a friend’s house. The actual Valentine’s Night itself ended up with a non-romantic family night in for 2 adults, one sleepless Didsbury Son and 2 crying babies. It was as though the spirit of Casanova had enveloped me and then taken a nap. So – I looked knowingly at Didsbury Wife. She looked at me with the longing only a mother of young twins can create. I nodded. She nodded. I motioned to the stairs. She nodded. “Fancy an early night?” I breathed. “Oh yes” she mouthed. “You go up, I’ll shut the cats in, check the twins and try not to disturb you. If I set the alarm we can get an hour’s kip. ” Bliss, an hour’s sleep before night feed on a weekend. This is the twin parent equivalent of “What Happens in Vegas”.
We sauntered down, not being cranky and Didsbury Wife gave me the option of man’s greatest gift on a Saturday night in, Match of the Day; and I gave up the men without a backwards glance, sorry.
The film “Valentine’ Day” is a syrupy American version of Love Actually; made watchable by
A) not including Martine McCutcheon
B) not including Martine McCutcheon
C) the first scene with Jennifer Garner.
It is a perfectly acceptable film to watch with a partner if you are still trying to establish that you can talk, listen and share a RomCom without an ulterior motive but we are way past that and I was rumbled years ago.
Then it happened, minutes from the end of the film. By this The Mighty-Headed twin boy had cried himself down stairs and into a position that was slowly dislocating my elbow. Whether it was that, sleep deprivation, or fear that I had set a precedent I found myself filling up and unable to make slightly annoying comments.
Julia Roberts (who has given up acting to be a soldier if this is a documentary) used her 48 hour pass for 14 hour flight to spend one night with her son, who Shirley MacLaine has been looking after whilst she was away. Shirley looks well and don’t worry, she made up with her husband earlier (Julia’s dad). When you realise the swarve millionaire on the plane next to her isn’t trying to hit on her (He is great. Not only does he give Julia his limo so she can get home, he is the reason that star Footballer – American not real can come out and live a life true to himself), it all makes sense.
So when Julia leans over to kiss her son, baby boy posited over my shirt and I welled up.
Years ago this open show of emotion could clinch a date. This time Didsbury Wife leaned over, passed me a wipe and got back to Ashton Kutcher.
The romantic meal I had planned for Valentine’s Night wasn’t as well-received as I had hoped