Romancing the Stoic

Laying in bed the other night, my husband was waxing poetic on a "dream trip" of crossing the Atlantic Ocean on an ocean liner.  Dream trip, sure.  Since nightmares technically qualify as dreams. 
First of all, I give you three words.  Ti.  Tan.  Ic.  Yeah, I know they build boats better and there are more safety regulations, but that's what idealistic husbands told their wives before getting on the Titanic.  More realistically, however, I get horrible motion sickness.  This cruise would be two weeks (one there and one back) of constant nausea.  Sure I could take Dramamine or wear Sea Bands, but his dream trip would literally make me sick.
My husband of nearly eighteen years informed me that I have no romance in my soul.
Seemingly unrelated, I reconnected with a childhood friend over Twitter this weekend.  J chastised me when I referred to people calling my husband and I "high school sweethearts" as "yuck".  She told me not to ruin it for the "hopeless romantics who wish they found love young".
That's now two votes from people who don't really know each other, but who do know me that I am officially not romantic.
So, this Friday is Valentine's day.  Thus far, we have no official plans.  When our kids were little, we used to go to Lawry's for a fancy dinner.  It was mostly because it was fairly easy to get a family member to babysit for us, thinking that the young married couple with two little kids needed a date night and not so much because we actually though the day had any real significance.
The past few years, we have been pretty darn broke.  I've spent the days at work, giving undeserved dirty looks to the parade of floral arrangements going past my desk. 
I'm not so much bothered by the notion that these vases of overpriced roses aren't stopping at my cubicle as I am by having to explain to all my co-workers that I really don't care that much and defending my husband to people who think he should send the flowers whether I care or not.
I've got nothing against flowers.  I like them quite a bit, actually.  I am also very fond of chocolate and sparkly jewelry.  When we can afford them.  I'm a pragmatist by nature.  Things that are considered traditionally romantic make me itch.  I accepted a marriage proposal at a Bennigan's after seeing the movie "Reality Bites" for crying out loud.
But it's not that I am not romantic.  A spontaneous bouquet of peonies from the Farmers Market works every time.  Scrubbing the bathroom makes me weak in the knees.  It's entirely plausible that at least one of our kids has my husband bringing me home Diet Dr Pepper and peanut M&Ms to thank for their existence.  I just don't need the grand gestures.
So we aren't booking the trans-Atlantic crossing any time soon.  My husband was annoyed that I was being a "dream killer", but I know how he works.  If we won the lottery tomorrow, he would book the trip as soon as the check cleared, because I said it would be fun that night talking ourselves to sleep.