Pizza is romantic... and

Happy New Year! I hope this year brings you happiness, joy, peace and nuff nuff nuff love.

h'Anyways.

romantic (adj.) - Inclined toward or suggestive of the feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love.

It's subjective, really.

Maybe you think romantic means chocolate and roses and candlelit dinner on Valentine's Day. Which is completely fine too. If that's what gets your romance wheels going, then press along.

But I don't think that's romantic. I think that's commercial and stereotypical and spoonfed. I feel like it's the idea of romance that's taught to us. We're taught to ooh and aww when a man gets down on one knee in front of the Eiffel Tower, or presents us with a bouquet of red roses.

I've only ever received a rose once. The gesture was sweet, but the rose died anyways. The card was nicer - with the sweetest note ever. It meant a whole lot to me. I still have both the card and the note, even though they really exist mostly as painful reminders.

I'm not fond of flowers. As a matter of fact, I can barely distinguish between types of flowers. I think they all look the same. I guess everyone can identify a rose. And I can identify orchids and sunflowers. Sometimes lilies, which are really pretty. Otherwise, they're all just... flowers. They don't even smell that great.

So someone presenting me with a bouquet of assorted flowers is rather meaningless. The gesture behind the gift is romantic, but the gift itself isn't.

Then what in the world is "romantic"?

Pizza.

Pizza is romantic.

I swear this isn't like one of those "#fatgirlproblems" hashtags or something. I think the idea of pizza is romantic. Because pizza is casual, the perfect idea of casual. How much more casual does a round baked meal cut into triangular slices in a square box, topped with grease and cheese and grease and meat and more grease get?

You don't eat pizza in front of strangers. You don't eat pizza at fancy dinners. I don't know about you, but I really only ever eat pizza around people I'm comfortable with.

There's the thing though. Comfort. I think comfort is romance. Being with someone who you feel at home with. When you can be dressed down, hair up, no make-up and feel okay with that.

Not someone you put on a pretty dress and curl your hair and dust your eyelids for. (Not that there's anything wrong with getting dressed up; I've actually acquired a fondness for the occasional dress-up.)

That suggestion of love is someone you can accept you as you are when you're comfortable.

You don't have to spend all your money on jewels (it's advised that you not do this, considering I've worn about three pairs of earrings in the past year), you don't have to get me flowers (I won't appreciate them and they'll die anyways), you don't have to take me out to expensive restaurants (I'm a picky eater and I live on comfort foods - ice cream  pastas, pizza, rices, chicken and desserts - anyways, plus I don't like eating in front of loads of people), you don't even have to plan a splashy proposal (I think they're cute on TV or in movies, but if someone took me to Paris and got down on one knee with a fat rock, I'd probably run away and have a breakdown in some bathroom because I hate crowds and I don't like being the centre of attention anyways).

I like handwritten letters, and gifts with lots of sentimental value (and usually little actual value). I like Chinese food. I like watching movies wrapped up in the couch. I like the idea of finding someone I can go to church with. Someone I can wear my yellow pajama shorts around.

Romance isn't Edward and Bella, with Elizabeth Mason's century old engagement ring and honeymooning on Isle Esme. Romance is Grandma and Grandpa, married for dozens of years, comfortable in a home and a family and a life they share.

Romantically yours,
me.