Credits: Papers and elements from: Peppermint Twist by Connie Prince and Pretty In Green, Listen To Your Heart by Pretty In Green, Your Own Special Way by Digitalegacies Designs
What Exactly IS Romance?
The truth of the matter is that romance is one of the harder to define concepts in the human world. On the surface it might seem like an elementary concept; Take me to an extravagant dinner, bring me flowers, a moonlit carriage ride with your arms around me. Picture of romance, right? Nah. I am not romance by having to dress up for dinner and having to have my mobility-challenged self lifted into a carriage, if they do that, would kinda kill the mood. Oh and the flowers? That’s a once a year thing for me. I think flowers for Valentine ’s Day sounds a little cliché, but what romances me about the flowers on Valentine’s Day is not the flowers on that day as much as it is the personal memory of my first Valentine’s Day with the man who became my husband. It was the first time I’d been given roses. What makes it romantic is the personal memory it evokes. It wasn’t cliché then because it was a classic gesture on our first Valentine’s Day together and it’s still romance now because it is the memory of a shared moment. What makes romance is that it’s personal.
David is not the typical textbook romance guy. That’s good because I’m not the typical romance gal either. Romance is what makes me feel special. It’s the reminders that I matter, that he thinks about me when I’m not there. When there are lollipops in a bowl at work and he pockets the mango one to bring home for me. Jumping out of the backseat in a New York City traffic jam at Christmas to buy truffles and pulling up to position the car so I can still get good train pictures are romance. It’s going out in the rain or snow to back the car in the drive so I don’t have to walk around it and making sure that I never run out of my favorite lip balms. When he walks over to a gas station to get me coffee and comes back with a huge cup because it’s the first pumpkin spice of the year in September or stops on the way home during the holidays and walks in with a peppermint mocha, that’s romance to me.
Romance was holding hands at the courthouse with snow gently falling outside needing no pageantry to say “forever.” It was deciding the ring I chose was fine, but I was worth a bigger diamond, not bigger than my taste, but enough to say “I think you’re worth more.” We don’t flaunt our romance much, it’s quiet and private and evidence that “he gets me” and it sets my heart all a flutter more than a goblet of wine by the fireplace or the entire city of Paris ever could.