I’ve never been a huge fan of Valentine’s Day. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a significant other on this day. Maybe it’s because of the excess of pink and red in the weeks leading up to it. Maybe it’s just because I’m bitter.
So, imagine my delight when I realized I was working on Valentine’s Day. I had agreed a few days before when an editor asked, “Can you work on Saturday?” I thought nothing of it until my roommate, who has been my V-Day date for the last two years, asked what we would be doing on Saturday.
When it hit me that I had agreed to work on the corniest day of the year, I started imagining what story I would have to write. Some old couple had been together for hundreds of years. A baby had been born at the stroke of midnight and his parents thought it’d be cute to name him “Val.” Or maybe, I’d be stuck covering weddings, with a bunch of happy people surrounding me for a few hours.
On that last one, I was right.