Love hurt early as a teenager when I realized I'd never have a date with Bobby Sherman or David Cassidy. I ripped down their life-size posters; threw away my pillow, which said, "Love is never having to say you're sorry," and began my hunt for true love.

Valentine's Day brings cheers or tears, depending on how straight Cupid's arrow is flying. If only a blood test could confirm if you're still "in love" or have moved onto the just "love" category. Is there really a difference, or does it just vary from day to day?

I've a long list of why I love my valentine, and on those days, its' a challenge to muster up enough politeness just to say good morning, I take count of those reasons. It's about remembering why we fell in love in the first place, forgetting the wrongs, and always working towards making everything right. If something is broke, he fixes it, without me having to ask, and that includes me when I need it.

In my eyes, he's the most reliable, stable and logical person I've ever known. Not only is he intelligent, but his common sense is always right on the money. Even though I don't like to admit to it, he's rarely wrong, even when I insist I'm right. I embrace the feeling of being secure, knowing he'll take care of everything and, if, God forbid, there was ever a crisis, I can lean on him until it's over. This past year has proved his mental stability is much stronger than mine, as I've spent the better part of the pandemic in a state of anxiety while he's been steadfast.

Love is when my knight in shining amour still looks good after he burps, scratches himself and flops down on the couch for a day of watching football. Love is watching football with him all day because I know he'll watch a chick flick with me that night.

Love is thinking good thoughts while listening to instructions on how to use the lawnmower for the 100th time. Love is not worrying whether he puts the toilet seat down or not. He could say the same about me for not putting it back up and who cares if he puts the toilet paper back on the holder. Love is, no matter what I'm wearing, he says I look great and never, ever, agrees it makes me look fat. Love is being the first to say we're sorry, and even if we don't mean it, we try to sound like we do.

I'm lucky to be able to share my life with someone who is my best friend, best papa, and also happens to be a lot better-looking than David Cassidy. My valentine gave me the best present a girl could ask for. He put a bird feeder right outside my home office window to help me, and the birds, get through this deep freeze, while melting my heart.

Sandy Turner is a mom, grandma, former caretaker and retired journalist living in Missouri.

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