{"version":"1.0","provider_name":"Vicky Gooden","provider_url":"http:\/\/www.vickygooden.com","author_name":"vickygooden","author_url":"http:\/\/www.vickygooden.com\/index.php\/author\/vickygooden\/","title":"The perfect f*cking Valentines? - Vicky Gooden","type":"rich","width":600,"height":338,"html":"<blockquote class=\"wp-embedded-content\" data-secret=\"aKcZZZAtSF\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.vickygooden.com\/index.php\/2017\/02\/13\/perfect-fcking-valentines\/\">The perfect f*cking Valentines?<\/a><\/blockquote><iframe sandbox=\"allow-scripts\" security=\"restricted\" src=\"http:\/\/www.vickygooden.com\/index.php\/2017\/02\/13\/perfect-fcking-valentines\/embed\/#?secret=aKcZZZAtSF\" width=\"600\" height=\"338\" title=\"&#8220;The perfect f*cking Valentines?&#8221; &#8212; Vicky Gooden\" data-secret=\"aKcZZZAtSF\" frameborder=\"0\" marginwidth=\"0\" marginheight=\"0\" scrolling=\"no\" class=\"wp-embedded-content\"><\/iframe><script>\n\/*! This file is auto-generated *\/\n!function(d,l){\"use strict\";l.querySelector&&d.addEventListener&&\"undefined\"!=typeof URL&&(d.wp=d.wp||{},d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage||(d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage=function(e){var t=e.data;if((t||t.secret||t.message||t.value)&&!\/[^a-zA-Z0-9]\/.test(t.secret)){for(var s,r,n,a=l.querySelectorAll('iframe[data-secret=\"'+t.secret+'\"]'),o=l.querySelectorAll('blockquote[data-secret=\"'+t.secret+'\"]'),c=new RegExp(\"^https?:$\",\"i\"),i=0;i<o.length;i++)o[i].style.display=\"none\";for(i=0;i<a.length;i++)s=a[i],e.source===s.contentWindow&&(s.removeAttribute(\"style\"),\"height\"===t.message?(1e3<(r=parseInt(t.value,10))?r=1e3:~~r<200&&(r=200),s.height=r):\"link\"===t.message&&(r=new URL(s.getAttribute(\"src\")),n=new URL(t.value),c.test(n.protocol))&&n.host===r.host&&l.activeElement===s&&(d.top.location.href=t.value))}},d.addEventListener(\"message\",d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage,!1),l.addEventListener(\"DOMContentLoaded\",function(){for(var e,t,s=l.querySelectorAll(\"iframe.wp-embedded-content\"),r=0;r<s.length;r++)(t=(e=s[r]).getAttribute(\"data-secret\"))||(t=Math.random().toString(36).substring(2,12),e.src+=\"#?secret=\"+t,e.setAttribute(\"data-secret\",t)),e.contentWindow.postMessage({message:\"ready\",secret:t},\"*\")},!1)))}(window,document);\n\/\/# sourceURL=http:\/\/www.vickygooden.com\/wp-includes\/js\/wp-embed.min.js\n<\/script>\n","thumbnail_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.vickygooden.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/02\/poo.png?fit=2016%2C812&ssl=1","thumbnail_width":2016,"thumbnail_height":812,"description":"This year it&#8217;s finally clicked; Valentines is a load of rubbish. Ok let me explain because that sounds harsh and I&#8217;ve shocked myself a bit with this revelation. I love romance and the simplest form of it for me is time with my husband. Like intentional, top notch, focused, all in, quality time. Not sharing our time with phone notifications or zombie like in front of the telly stuffing crisps in our mouths\u2026although\u2026 I used to want the works on Valentines. A special meal out, flowers, cards and maybe a gift too. Surprise was the order of the day; \u2018oh my, an expensive meal out and a \u00a350 bouquet? You must love me THE MOST\u2019. I&#8217;d hunt high and low for the best card for Mr G, sometimes buying two cards from me and one from Rupes because HOW DARLING. Granted, my previous approach to Valentines\u00a0says more about the old me than anything else.\u00a0But this year as I scroll through Instagram and see countless lounges pristinely decorated for the occasion my toes have started to curl. I really don&#8217;t mean to take away from the couples who are going to wholeheartedly indulge in the day, those getting wined and dined [&hellip;]"}