a kitsch-free, angst-free zone

Even though I'm spending Valentine's Day alone, I'm not feeling unhappy or neglected. Instead, it cheers me that I don't have to cope with gifts proffered by an overspending husband, or a nervous boyfriend (I still hold that this uber-kitschy holiday is generally worse for men). I'm still trying to figure out who sent me flowers on my birthday, but I am determined not to cheat by calling the florist.

Instead, I'm sitting in a Highland Park cafe with quite a few single people of both persuasions, and nobody looks particularly unhappy or worse for wear. I'm pleased that I was able to get into one of my smaller sized pairs of jeans, and my hair is behaving reasonably well. And the stack of folders from work doesn't even faze me. I should get through them in a couple of hours if not distracted. If so, I might wander into the Anthropoligie shop next door before they close, and see if they have any sweaters on sale. My beloved Sigrid Olsen cardigan is beginning to fall apart.