I love Valentine’s Day. Always have. The weird thing is, I’m usually single on Valentine’s Day, but I still love it. It’s a day to have an excuse to look extra pretty and eat chocolate and go out with friends. But this morning, I rolled out of my bunk bed as I listened to a rooster crowing down the street (he starts around 4 am every morning). I slapped on the same clothes I’ve been wearing all week and spent the day building a house in a Mexican slum, shopping for mattresses in a Mexican warehouse store, and giving dirty kids piggy back rides. When we got back to the base, I just wished so much that I could be clean, like head-to-toe clean, and wear a cute outfit and make-up and have a cute, funny guy take me to dinner and a movie and maybe ice cream or coffee afterward. Instead, I’ll probably squish onto an empty bunkbed and watch a movie on someone’s laptop, then go to sleep and wait for the rooster to crow tomorrow morning so I can do it all over again.
I’ll have to make up for it next year.