The scars of childhood linger long and deep

The past 24 hours have involved copious amounts of sleep, Anadin Extra, and water, but I appear to be on the mend. I even managed to stagger out of the house to get milk so that I could have a much-needed cup of tea. The one essential element of the English medicine cabinet that was missing? Heinz Cream of Tomato soup. Unox's marscapone and sundried tomato variety was posher, but lacked the sweet spiciness of Heinz.

Another thing lacking today? Valentine's cards. This is probably just as well. The memory of receiving my first card still haunts me. I was in the second-year juniors at Hillside Avenue (so, about 8 years old) and found a card in my desk on Valentine's Day. I was mortified! I took it home, burst into tears, and ripped it up. Nearly 20 years later, I discovered that there's a good reason for this, to whit:

"Although less emotionally guarded than our menfolk, [English females] are easily embarrassed and prefer to avoid precipitate declarations of amorous attraction."

Watching The English, Kate Fox

I think I must be an extreme example of this. Never mind precipitate declarations -- it's any and ALL declarations of amorous attraction. It's for this reason that I have never been able to stomach the thought of getting married: I've no problem with the lifelong commitment bit, but standing up in public and saying all those embarrassing things about love in front of friends and family? Never! I've had numerous wedding-related nightmares, resulting in my waking up with tears streaming down my face. The most important day of a woman's life? I don't think so.

Just thinking about it has made me come over all queasy again. Time to lie down and watch some ice skating.