Valentine’s Day falls in the dead of winter, and this has been one of the coldest, snowiest and wettest. Romantically, I can imagine a roaring fireplace in an isolated cabin, some brandy, no children, reading Marguerite Duras’ The Lover to each other. But I am lucky if I get some cheap chocolates and flowers from the East Village Key Food.
It is a holiday of disappointment, even if I know in the back of my head that my expectations are unrealistic. [Read More…]