Getting Ready for Valentine’s Day * 39/366

8 Feb
Valentine's Day by Angie Friedel
Valentine’s Day, a photo by Angie Friedel on Flickr.

That’s me, in the purple, give or take 130 lbs and 66 inches. Those other two brats represent all of those new couples on Valentine’s Day. The girl – hopelessly optimistic and easy to please. She wants to cook dinner for her boy and has high hopes that he will bring her flowers or other typical Valentine fare. The boy – he stops at the grocery store for a $5 bouquet of carnations on the way to her house, while secretly dreading this date. But he thinks the flowers will help him get some, which is his only reason for showing up.

Back to me. I am smarter than that little green girl. More modest as well. (Look how short her skirt is! Whore!) She has been fooled by those wicked, “That’s Jared” commercials and that damn song that monopolizes our brain radios. She has girlfriends who ask her what she is doing on Valentine’s Day and thinks that if she says, “nothing,” they will assume little blue boy doesn’t like her.

Somehow between the 14th of February, 269 AD and the present day, flowers, red hearts, chocolates, and cheap teddy bears made in China came to represent a martyr by the name of Valentine. As he is probably rolling in his grave, he most likely has a message for our girl in green. “Don’t do it! You’re only setting yourself up for disappointment! Don’t be a martyr like me!” But she won’t listen.

I know it is a Hallmark holiday as processed as American cheese, but I genuinely like Valentine’s Day. I get a kick out of sending Valentines to my family and telling those (very few) that love me that on this one and only day – I love them too. However, at the ripe old age of “none of your damn business,” I have finally learned to exclude my husband from this day. He says that he likes to treat me special every day, not just Valentine’s Day. And yes, he spoils me. But Valentine’s Day is one of 3 days in the year that I expect a little extra. For him not to acknowledge it tells me that I don’t deserve all the chocolates and flowers and jewelry given to all of the ladies on TV commercials.

So this year, I have made him aware of the fact that I am having a date with myself that night. My request is for him to stay upstairs, locked in the bedroom so I can enjoy a bottle of wine by myself and watch A Streetcar Named Desire on the couch, dripping red wine on the dog in my lap. I even plan on paying a premium for flowers that day and setting them next to the TV so that when my glance strays from Marlon Brando, I can be reminded of how much I love myself. I recommend everyone else do the same. (Unless of course your husband likes the holiday and you plan on getting showered with gifts and affection. In that case, disregard my comment about loving yourself. You should probably just go punch yourself in the face.)


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