You know what this brings up for me: the partner who decides not to inform their love specifically so that they can dun them for doing something wrong, and be right about how they are a cretin. That is the very definition of an asshole. Setting someone up to catch them doing something wrong.
For my part, I had chocolates. Or, I should say, that I brought two big thick bars of Cadbury’s milk with almonds, which I gave to my guide Simon, which he then handed out for dessert to my fellow riders the last night of our riding safari when I had to (and always do) go to bed early. How instructive it is to think about what we can give on V-day, if you will, rather than what we get, which is so often the mindset. What we’re owed, as though anyone owes us any goddamned thing (other than basic courtesy, that is).
It’s something of an understatement to say that chocolate in the African bush is deeply appreciated, for most attempts to bring it fail, as it tends to end up as soup, and make a bloody awful mess in your bags. I have ways, and those ways are mightily appreciated even if every single person gets little more than a square. The point is that someone made an effort, that effort is acknowledgement, and it has its own way of being a Very Big Deal.
My most recent ex, and all those before him, never bothered to acknowledge Valentine’s Day. Nor my birthday. Nor in his case, Christmas. My birthday was instead the day that he had to put a beloved dog down, and while I certainly understand the sadness around that, I was the one who sent him a card about his goddamned dog rather than his taking the time to mark another year gone by in my life.
When we couch things in terms of what we are owed by virtue of a day that is worth marking (like an anniversary, for example) which is important to us, but largely just another day in the life to others, it can be a prime setup for disappointment. It’s ludicrous to expect a partner to read our minds, or to share sentimentality that we feel but they may not.
To your point KG, I did indeed tell the ex what I wanted (quality time) which never materialized. He couldn’t be bothered to call either, unless you define “calling” as letting me know he was on his way over for a quick poke. Which, of course didn’t happen to coincide with any meaningful holiday or sentimental memory.
I find it endlessly amusing that the longer I am out of that morass, the more I see him for the asshole he was/is, and the more I can find the funny in it. Including my tolerance for being treated like an asswipe with a single purpose.
The other piece of this of course back to your piece about love languages. While there are many who’ve read the book, most promptly forgot about it, and most men I know have never heard of it. So assuming, unfairly, that the BF simply “should know” that you happen to want affection or that you prefer a spa day is not only supremely arrogant, it’s self-focused to the extreme. If we’re going to love someone, we might want to love them enough to let them know what moves us, and conversely, kindly, what moves them. Giving first, albeit it sure as hell didn’t work with my BF, often invites reciprocity and an eagerness to return the favor.
Unless you happen to be dating my ex.