Whenever I see VD I think of venereal disease, which is probably something one can get on Valentine’s Day, and it pretty much sums up what I think about Valentine’s Day. It’s what I imagine having some sort of festering painful sore on your hoo-ha would be like. It’s just painful.
Now, it’s not because I’m single, so don’t be dismissing this as sour grapes. Mind you, you could be making the quick judgement that it’s because my husband and I don’t celebrate it, so again, sour grapes. Nope. It’s the hype. I dislike the hype that comes from the day. It starts with sub-par roses, goes to cheap chocolate, round the overpriced (and overcrowded dinner) and comes to a screeching halt somewhere between schmaltzy jewelry and obligatory sex.
Nothing about any of that is good, wonderful, or loving.
There’s always this horrific shrill nature to Valentine’s Day. It’s an expectation of must rather than desire. It’s as if you’re the worst person on the planet for not playing along and buying into the hype.
The only time I get into the sentiment is with little kids. Little kids (even some big ones) LOVE their teachers. They want to shower them with presents and make them feel special. They like the candy. They enjoy the festivities and giving just the right Valentine. Heck, in my day it was a whole month going in. You’d make your mailbox, the party would be planned, you’d eat and read your Valentine’s and, if you were lucky, the teacher would have a special game. Now that’s how you celebrate.
As for me, if I want romance and being shown all the love in the world, that’s my everyday. I don’t need no stinking holiday to prove it.
(Disclosure: I bought Taed a beautiful yellow-green and purple orchid for his desk (WHICH HE STILL HASN’T TAKEN TO WORK), plus some white chocolate covered fortune cookies. He gave me a box of candy hearts that I bought at Walgreens. We’re having left-overs for dinner. Life is good.)