Oh joy and rapture: the most unnecessary and unhealthy day of overcompensation to ever go commercial rears its ugly head once again. It is a holiday that forces you to slap on a smile and shell out major dough for the one you “adore” or gives you a reason to get trashed in celebration of your liberation, both of which ensure disaster. I see no use for it—Valentine’s Day sucks. Major.
I never can understand the allure of the obligation to love someone so deeply in the middle of February. It’s the midst of winter, you’re more than likely pasty white-skinned, and probably still fat from the holidays. How incredibly attractive!
So what’s worse than stale Christmas music? Fresh lovey-dovey Valentine’s Day songs. I steer clear of the radio for fear of regurgitation.
Does anyone actually know who this diapered angel baby is we worship once day a year? According to Roman mythology, Cupid is a certified pervert—look it up.
I guess the only redeeming part about the whole thing is that the only time you really have to worry about being single is the day after Valentine’s when candy is all half off—that is the time to fear.
I guess my bitterness for Valentine’s Day began as a child when everyone brought his or her own little cards and candies to share in elementary school. I would spend countless hours perfecting my “mailbox” that would house all of my goodies, but guess who NEVER FAILED to start the newest string of strep throat the night before the big day? I can recall only attending two school parties because of my curse.
It’s not that I’m harboring some irrational vendetta against the holiday, unless you consider bouts of searing throat pain, high fever, and body aches a reason to hate all things pink and red together—then yes, guilty.
The only entertaining memory I have of the holiday as a child was making valentines in class for prisoners (which my eight-year-old psyche was never fully comfortable with at all.) That, and the time I went to China Buffet with my grandparents are all I got.
In junior high, we got to send each other “Valentine-Grams” such as wilted carnations and broken-to-pieces Hershey bars courtesy of the Student Government and a $1-per-gift contribution (how romantic). I always hated the girls who got ridiculous armloads of carnations from every facet of the school because they requested only flowers—no candy—from their suitors. While I got the usual bounty, it truly was a “none for Gretchen Wieners” deal every year for me (excuse the “Mean Girls” reference).
Oddly enough, I became one of those Student Government reps in high school, and to be honest, I only did it to pass out valentines that one time a year. I got some kind of sick gratification from reading some of the messages attached to the valentines because many of them made my life seem not so embarrassing after all.
The day in itself is such a tease—a bunch a trite trash. ‘Tis the day to profess your feelings by saying, “Today, I love you. Tomorrow, I tolerate you.” Love should—or at least attempt to—come from the heart 365 days a year, not just when Hallmark tells you it’s time.
I guess the craziest part is that I’m at the age where my friends are old enough to start getting engaged or married, maybe even on this blessed holiday. While I should be taking a moment to let that soak in, it’s so much more fun to piss off the lovers and the dreamers on this magical day.
Regardless, Valentine’s Day really is a time to just step back and appreciate the important people in your life, not just significant others. However, we all have that one person who deserves the opposite of the day’s sentiments, and to that person in my life, I hope the hydrogenated oils and lard in that Walgreens box of chocolates you just engorged give you diabolical acne until Easter.
(Steps off soapbox)