cyberspace junkyard

Fool for love
Reading a post on Riss's blog prompted me to think about romance. Well, cute guys first, then romance. (hee!)

A bunch of flowers has never really excited me that much in the past. Maybe it's because I have a deep psychological wall hiding a painful childhood memory of constant hayfever. Maybe it's because I can't bear the thought of flowers being brutally uprooted from their natural environment. Or, y'know, maybe it's because my mum owns a florist. Whatever.

I'm not much of a stuffed toy girl either. I have two treasured toys (other than the cabbage patch dolls that my parents lavished on me). The first is a snow white teddy bear with the darkest brown eyes named Durnik - more thought went into the name than the buying of the gift or the giver. The second was from my first real boyfriend (whatever that means!) and is a gorgeous moose with a Canadian Mountie hat named Chuck, from when he was in Canada on an internship. I'm afraid any others would be a little yawn-inducing.

So what does cause my knees to buckle and the breath to catch in my throat? It's when someone knows me or a part of me well enough to do something that I alone will understand. Hence there's generic swooning (awww, a dozen long stem red roses) and ultimate swooning (awww, he's signed us both up for archery lessons, just cos I've always wanted to learn). I love it when the guy in question is as excited about the romantic gesture as I am, and can't wait to show me what he's planned or done. Oh, and did I mention someone who can serenade me? It's not about the most fantastic voice (though an Anthony Warlow protege wouldn't go astray) or great piano technique, but about music from the soul. Uhoh, not going to get onto that tangent here. Focus, Vron, we're talking about romance. Right. Ahem.

Besides, I've done some pretty ridiculous things all in the name of romance before. Let me see, there was the time I popped over to a guy's place while he was out to replenish his food supplies and left a scavenger hunt trail of clues leading to the piece de resistance - a pack of his fave Mint Slices. Another time, another guy - I published a special birthday message in code in his local newspaper. Oh, and that mixed CD of his favourite songs, ending with me singing "Good night Sweetheart" acapella.

Mate, was I gushy or what? The scary thing (having been completely uninterested in romancing anyone for almost 2 years now) is that I'm probably storing all that icky sweet stuff up. Pity the poor boy I end up with!