Confession: I enjoy Valentine's Day. Even when I was single, I was pretty positive about February 14, probably because I associate it--like all holidays--with a gut-busting meal and boozefest.

In fact, one of my favourite Valentine's Days on record was when I was about as single as it gets and hated men. I was actually never planning on having another boyfriend and was pumped about the idea. I came home from work, cooked a huge pot of pasta (probably enough for about six people), drank liver-pickling amounts of wine and passed out while watching a Dawson's Creek DVD marathon.

Now that I'm all old and married, Valentine's Day hasn't lost its appeal. This morning I attempted heart-shaped pancakes for hubby and myself. I say "attempted" because I couldn't find my heart-shaped cookie cutter. Freehand cutting pancakes doesn't work. There were almost tears, but Peter is a good sport and ate his butchered crap-dough cheerfully, which made me feel pretty loved.

And last night we went out for dinner, where we split half a litre of pinot grigio (so I probably had two glasses) and managed to be drunk enough to have a dance party on the walk back to the car...by myself...and then realized I had left my purse in the restaurant.

The piece de resistance of this year's VD was getting flowers delivered to work every day this past week. My desk looks a bit like a funeral, except with computers and without the warm embrace of angels and eternal rest. The week also involved cupcakes and cute cards.

What's to hate about this holiday?! There's food and booze and flowers and sexy time.

Don't hate, participate.