Sssh... it's a secret

In our divine wisdom, the three blonde bombshells decided it would do us all good to get into the spirit of Valentine’s Day and send out some good natured, light-hearted love this year. Which began a bit of eeny-meeny-miney-mo on various counts...
 
I decided to steer clear of gifting the once-prized (if never by me) musical romance that is Piano by Candlelight. Although the write up in North & South was almost convincing, I didn't want to risk complete petrification. Richard Clayderman-esque is not for everyone. Far too squidgy for my tastes, soft toys were definitely out. And what with the delivery complications, flowers do have that tendency for dying on the porch. Chocolate... sticky, melty... nah.
 
But if in your mailbox you should find a pink envelope backed with a question mark – and after opening it you’re not too put off by my own dubious style of cheeky wit – then, my chosen inamorato for the day, maybe I’m doing something right. Or quite possibly not. My affections can be something of an acquired taste.
 
L-O-V-E. That four letter word that the world has never quite been able to define. I have my own ideas and, quite likely, yours are worlds away from mine. Because mostly, I look around me and feel... well, quietly disillusioned... I don’t want for myself what it looks, from the outside, like many others have got.
 
The single most attractive quality in a person for me - lover, friend or passing acquaintance - is someone who knows what it is to be true to themselves. Unfortunately, as a very wise gay friend who laughs at me when I share with him this thought says: “Yeah, we’re both f****d. That’s pretty rare to find in anyone, and especially in a bloke!”
 
That’s okay. I shrug my shoulders with a grin. I’m also really happy right here, right now - and obtaining that seems more of a mysterious secret to most folk than who sent a silly unnamed card...