Dh and I don’t really do Valentine’s Day. To be fair, we don’t do most holidays. Or anniversaries, really. I guess it comes from him not being home all that often, after a while the days stopped being that important. When we first got married we could barely afford milk so we never got much used to giving big gifts, even after we could afford things. I told him to forgo an engagement ring so we could buy a bed. When you get married as teenagers I think sometimes practicality overrules grand gestures. So this Valentine’s Day it never even occured to me to buy Dh a gift, I can’t remember the last time we did that. This week though, someone asked me what I could give him, if I could get him something Sunday. I said I’d probably give him a weekend home, since he’s away on course. But then they said something strange…  They said I’m a storyteller, and they asked if I’d ever given Dh a story. I laughed at first, because let’s be honest. Dh puts up with my writing because he loves me and every time he meets someone new at work that looks at him funny before saying “hey… I’ve seen you on the internet…” or the Brigade Commander walks over to chat with him about my blog… lets just say while some guys who like attention might look at it like a perk, to Dh it’s more of a sacrifice of love. But after I thought about it for a few days I decided that this week, with love on everyone…