From more single, but no less cynical, times.

Like most couples, my boyfriend and I approached Feb. 14 like a trip to the dentist: with a sense of dread and annoyance. We were being forced to hang out together, gaze into each other’s eyes and exchange trite sentiments. We consented that this sounded creepy and weird, and we would keep the enforced romance to a bare minimum.

Then each of us crept away to make rule-breaking plans.

Now, I’m not so cheap that I won’t spend money when it matters. I know what’s important, and finding a way to spend zero dollars on one of the highest-grossing holidays just for the sake of an opinion column would be cheap. But when we realized what we really wanted to do on Valentine’s Day, I realized: You don’t have to go out when you’re already going out.

We’re not alone on that, either. An informal poll among coworkers, customers and my dental hygienist revealed nobody has big plans for this weekend. Highly-listed activities include wallpapering the bathroom, sleeping in and filing taxes (romantically filing taxes). It seems it doesn’t matter what you do on Sunday, as long as you’re doing it together. I took that as the keystone of my list, and behold—everything that mattered was 100 percent free.

I should mention that it has been about four years since I was on the couples’ end of Valentine’s Day; I usually spent the night at a bar, party or social event designed to drink and dance my bitter, single pain away—which was actually much better than the heart-shaped box of cardboard my friends were getting. I knew that, at least traditionally, I would need a card, a present, a planned activity, a nice outfit and a meal—preferably with some kind of fancy beverage. I was under pressure to do something ultra-nice for my boyfriend (of post-birthday-fiasco fame), and as his birthday wasn’t for six more months, this was an opportunity to erase the image of me on his bathroom floor, sans pants and dignity. I would start with a gift.

Most men really do have everything they need, which is why when you ask them what they want, they answer practically: socks, insoles, a router cable. Things they don’t need badly enough to buy immediately, and therefore forget about. I cast about for something he needed that he wouldn’t get himself—and I found it in his wallet. The silk cardholder that protects the magnetic strip on credit cards was stripped to ribbons, and he refused to get rid of it without getting another. After a field trip to a few different banks (in case he was particular), I was armed with an obscure and extremely dorky gift. Now to wrap it.

I considered buying a card—most are under $5, which is reasonable—but after much eye-rolling and fake-vomiting, I decided I would go the personal route. I chose a blank Greenpeace card from my desk featuring a sleeping polar bear, and filled it with honesty. Anyone who wants to call “easy” on this has never gone through several drafts of a letter to someone who loves you and isn’t required to. I added the card sleeve and moved on to activities.

I wanted to keep the day mostly open; trying to play cruise director of love was only going to add pressure, which was exactly what I didn’t want. We should be relaxing, having a stress-free, mutual day off. I asked him what he thought of a plan to have no plans at all: we’d sleep in, have a leisurely breakfast, read the news, check email, watch movies and perhaps do that thing that most couples will do when the winter is cold and long. He readily agreed (maybe he thought I meant something other than charades?), and added we could throw something in the new crock pot for dinner. Done deal. This would be homey, warm, and sickeningly romantic. I ransacked my apartment for candles (does everyone randomly have pillar candles around their houses? When did I even buy all these?) and added them to my overnight bag for good measure.

Having taken care of everything else, the fairy godmother then turned her attention to Cinderella’s gown. Now, he’s seen me in everything; I’m not going to wear a sparkly bar top to sit around the house, but I’m not packing ratty jammies, either. An audit of my clothing returned two nice sweaters (both previously complimented) a clean pair of jeans, and comfy pants that he won’t notice until I walk away (everyone has these; check your closet). A few choice items from the top drawer and I was ready for my close-up.

Actually, I’m not quite ready. The barista lifestyle had been a little rough on my ladylike hands lately. Oh, wait—my toenails are all chipped and shouldn’t I have two eyebrows? And holy cats I could sand a schooner with my heels. Holiday or no, it was time for a spa treatment—not just for him, but for me: I was about 4,000 miles late for my oil change, and nobody’s feeling sexy with man feet and a unibrow. Yeesh.

Later, after I'm safely plucked and sanded, he calls to surprise me with a slight addendum to the plan. He wants to leave the house at least once: to go to the UM Natural History Museum. We’d been planning to go for over six months; it was supposed to be the venue of our first date, but it fell through and we’d been postponing it ever since. Aw. I think I just threw up a little. Romantically.

Valentine’s Day card - free
Credit card sleeve - free
Candles - free
A day in bed - best free ever
Dinner in - free
UM Natural History Museum - free

Sarah Smallwood is currently rewriting her first novel, keeps a daily blog at The Other Shoe, and loves the crap out of her boyfriend. Honey, you've seen me sick, seen me cry, and seen me naked. Thanks for an amazing six months.