For Valentine’s Day, instead of a four-course meal in the neighborhood, we tempted fate and went to a Valentine’s/Fashion Week party. The views from The Standard were lovely, but it was nearly impossible to track down a drink until, eventually, the male models/waiters started walking around with bottles of vodka and just pouring it straight into glasses. Were we overserved? Perhaps.
On the walk back to the subway, we stopped in McDs because I didn’t eat any of the tiny appetizers at the party. We split nuggets, a cheeseburger, fries, and a shamrock shake that Kirk found disgusting (but I secretly liked). True romance.
This springs marks our sixth year together. Something that has served us well is our willingness to let the big moments happen on their own terms, and not pre-determined dates designed to sell boxes of chocolate. Not that I turn those down. But it’s usually the simplest things that turn into the big memories, and I’m totally fine with that.
