The best Valentine's Day date I ever had wasn't with my husband. It was with a man I dated briefly before I met my husband. We were way too cool to be bothered with the whole Valentine's Day nonsense, so we purposely didn't plan to do anything except hang out at his place and watch a movie. We applauded ourselves for not falling into the media trap of chocolates and roses. I arrived at his place sans makeup and looking as blasé as possible. If I remember right, he was wearing sweats.
About halfway through the movie he looked over at me and smiled. "It would be nice to go out to dinner tonight, wouldn't it?" he asked sheepishly. I had to laugh because I was thinking the exact same thing. Yes, we were young and cool, but apparently we weren't above some corporately-inspired romance.
We wound up going to Pizza Hut since all the nice places around town were full from reservations made months ago by people far smarter than us. The pizza was greasy and the ambience was non-existent, but it was terribly romantic. Not only had the two of us both been able to laugh at ourselves, but it was also great to just sit in a generic pizza restaurant and hang out with someone whose company I enjoyed without worrying about everything going perfectly for Valentine's Day.
This year my Valentine's Day will probably involve a box of chocolates from my husband and then the obligatory Valentine's Day sex. He'll get me chocolates because he thinks that's what husbands do for Valentine's Day and I'll initiate sex because I think that's what wives do for Valentine's Day. Ah, romance.