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I rather like Valentine’s Day.  I like the silly parts of it, like the cheap, paper Valentines they make for kids to give out at school, and conversation hearts, and everyone celebrating Happily Ever After endings for one day.  A few days ago Kroger’s had a bin of $.99 boxes of Valentines by the checkout.  One of the boxes had dancing Disney princesses in it.  How could I pass that up?  Anyone who knows me is well aware that I am Snow White, and I love to dance.  Last night I brought the box to WSU swing with me, and inflicted them on everyone there.  One girl got away, but everyone else got Valentines.  I made everyone pick their princess.  The guys tended to go for the ones with the least on – all the Tinker Bells disappeared first, quickly followed by The Little Mermaid and Jasmine.  Lone Wolf garnered my complete approval when he said he chose Belle (of Beauty and the Beast) because “she likes books.  Plus Tinker Bell is only about this big” (holding up thumb and finger about two centimeters apart).

I had a goal this year of getting an actual Valentine from an actual boy.  He didn’t have to be romantically interested in me, he just had to not be related to me.  I even had Charlie Brown lined up to be my backup.  For a while it looked like I might not need any backup, but that proved ephemeral, and when I quit youth group I stopped seeing Charlie Brown so much, so even my backup faded away.  Things were looking bleak.

Last night I was telling this to Belle (we were sympathising with each others’ guylessness).  Mr. Clean happened to be in between us.  He said, “Oh, I wish I had a Valentine!  I would give it to you.”  Then he offered to give me a Valentine’s hug instead.  I gladly accepted.  It was quite a hug.  It attracted the attention of the couple across the way – two newcomers who I’d introduced myself to right before I gave them Valentines.  Belle explained that I was getting a Valentine’s hug.  The guy protested, “Hey, I thought I was your Valentine!”  It was a beautiful moment.

And in other news, there’s a happy ending to the History Test Debacle.  When Prof. Herd started passing out blue books at the end of class, I felt sick.  I’ve never gotten anything less than an A in that class, and I knew that I was headed for at least a C, maybe a B if he was very kind (I don’t have perfectionist tendencies, no…).  But a funny thing happened.  All the blue books were passed out and people were leaving, but he hadn’t given me mine.  I took a deep breath and went to ask for it.  He said he wanted to talk to me.  After everyone left he told me that he hadn’t graded mine yet.  He could tell by reading it that I really had run out of time, but that I was going somewhere with the essay and knew what I was talking about.  He’s going to keep it until after I take the second exam, and then grade it in light of how I do on that test.  This is about where I almost fainted with relief and the angels started singing the Hallelujah Chorus in my head.  Prof. Herd is now officially my favorite teacher.  Ever.  All I have to do is blow him away on the next exam.  Yeah, I think I can do that.

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