annual means every year

So what right do I have to hate on V-Day when I’ve never really spent one alone? Isn’t Kill Cupid Day for those lonesome spinsters who rebuke authority and all things happy? That’s definitely not me, so what gives, woman? Don’t think I haven’t spent the last 350 days trying to come up with the answer to that question. Take, for example the following email:

Subject: The day that could be
Happy Valentine's Day. Although I think every day is a good day to tell someone you care about that they are special, capitalism says today is the best. I'll tell you tomorrow in person in my own way (and leave out a pink stuffed monkey). Truly.

Ten Years. Ten Valentine’s Days. Here’s the roster—you’ll need it to keep up.

98-02 JWL
03-04 CBM
2005 BSG/JPV/JBM
2006 BJG
2007 CAS

In past years I’ve told you a litany of uninspired Valentine’s Day “Romanticisms”. For the newcomers, here’s the recap. Five times JPW was fallen victim to tradition and a cheap one at that. I guess when you’re a teenager carnations are the budget. CBM took me out on a romantic dinner at the city’s finest Italian restaurant. Great, we all know how much I love Italian cuisine. The following year, a Saturday, he showed up at my office with a dozen roses in hand, for his secretary forgot to call the florist. BSG, whose girlfriend called me 6 months ago to inform me that they have been dating continuously for 7 years, has been wiped from memory. Guess it was a good thing I didn’t put all my eggs in one basket that year, even if JPV and JBM share the same first name. Figuring out who to “thank” for the roses was quite an interesting conversation. BJG had me blindfolded in his car as we drove 45 minutes out of town to another city’s finest Italian restaurant. Did he not get the point? And this was after he drove to my house at the crack of dawn and sprinkled a trail of rose petals from my front door to my car, where a card was waiting. You remember the story…I was outside in the subfreezing temperatures, cursing as I swept up the fake petals. And CAS sent me an email.

I wonder what would happen if you tried to live the day as just another day without flowers and candy and hearts. Isn’t that like a Jehovah’s Witness trying to ignore Christmas? After years of commercialism telling me that I have to give everyone in my class a valentine’s card for fear that Little Johnny’s feelings will be hurt, Valentine’s Day is as much a part of life as any another day. Even the school system has bought into the hype. At my high school the girls were all given a red heart during homeroom. We were instructed to write our names on our heart and pin them to our shirts—straight pens in public schools! Such a thing would never happen today! The purpose of the exercise was that the girls were not allowed to talk to the boys, and if we did, then we had to give the boy our heart. (Sha! Gag!) The boy with the most hearts at the end of the school day won some stupid award or something. My point? I managed to go the whole day without speaking to any boys…even missing out on a Prom invite from a hunky senior football player. Lo and behold…just before the end of the day I slip up and speak. And to whom must I give my heart away…CAS. Talk about irony biting you in the butt.

For ten years the men in my life have done their damnedest to do what is just and right on one day out of the year. Even if they cannot manage it on any other day, when there are pink and red signs all over the world, they try. And for ten years what have I done? Have I been unappreciative? Have I balked at their attempts? No, not even I’m that much of a bitch. I put on my party dress, strap on my heels, and concede defeat. Le sigh.

Rather than continue my grumbling about commercialism and uninspired intentions, let’s turn the tables. What DO I want on this Valentine’s Day? A pink stuffed monkey.