I’ve been faithfully not participating in Valentine’s Day for years.  I wouldn’t say that I’m a Valentine’s Scrooge exactly, but that statement would be bordering on truth.  You will absolutely not find me in a pink or red shirt on February 14.

In high school, I dealt with the holiday by celebrating Spatula Day instead.  It seemed like a pleasant way to avoid thinking about who was single and who wasn’t.  Besides, even if you don’t care about spatulas, you’re bound to like at least one thing that exists because of the use of a spatula.  Cake, anyone?  Pancakes?  Scrambled eggs?  Whipped cream?

Then during study abroad, my roommate’s boyfriend (now husband) who was on a different continent at the time asked me to get some flowers for her on Valentine’s Day.  It could have been a sad moment.  I could have been disappointed that my roommate was getting flowers and I wasn’t.  Instead, it was one of my favorite moments of that entire wonderful semester.

The combination of sun and mountains and cool weather and obnoxious hearts everywhere was just right.  As a bonus, I got to carry beautiful tulips through the street on a mission that I knew would make my roommate happy.  Those hearts expressed exactly how I felt about the time and place in which I found myself.  They were a little bit loud and over-stated, and they were definitely enthusiastic.  I practically skipped up the mountain to our apartment, and I wasn’t upset in the least that I was enjoying that moment alone.

That fateful day in 2005 helped me move almost completely past my Valentine’s Day Scroogeness.  Almost.

Anyway, tonight I get to hang out with my boyfriend (who I like just as much every other day of the year) and my spatula.  I’m making Nantucket Cranberry Pie, and you can probably guess what cooking implement will be used to get every last bit of topping out of the bowl.  That’s right, a spatula.

Maybe instead of being a huge dork, High School Hannah just had crazy insight into future Valentine’s Day celebrations.  It’s possible.