Pas d'une Last night I celebrated Valentine's Day "entre ami(e)s" at a party and later at Else's. Home at 3:30. Someone had taken balloons from the party and we tied them to the back of the Beetle. I left them there over night, hoping that some kid would take them or that they'd simply detach themselves and fly off. A metaphor for lost love? Or a kitty-surrogate seeking new romance perhaps? The day before Valentine's (Valentine's Eve I called it), I decided to write off a love interest of mine. As is often the case, the moment you lose interest, you attract the attention of person you had been dancing around all this time. It was a rare communication, not a Valentine, but an apology, which made me feel like a self-centred bitch for writing him off and appealed to my tenacity, which I had forcefully buried. Did I want to dance this tango again? I did enough dancing last night (Cher rocks! "Do You Believe in Love"). And when you dance alone at least you don't tread on anyone's toes.