Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Happy Valentines Day!
For as long as I can recall, I have hated Valentines day.
I hate the pink. I hate the hearts. I hate the obscene feeling of obligation, the stench of rotten Valentines past lingering in the air, the sound of broken hearts crunching beneath my tepid sensitivities. I hate watching the cash register continue to tally the cost of $7.50 cards that will arrive late, be opened in haste and passed over in anticipation of the one from ‘him’. Since I was twelve years old comparing the number of M'n'M's that Lucy glued on Bethy's card versus mine, I have been shaking my box of valentines, unappreciative of what I've received and mourning what I’m missing.
I've ended 80% of my relationships before the impending doom of Valentines Day as a pre-emptive strike against inevitable disappointment. And the other 20% were miserable. My first love took me to the Keg restaurant for bottomless cokes and all-you-can-eat Caesar salads. My last love gave me a card. You see, Valentines Day celebrates all the things I hate about relationships. He reads a magazine that tells him he should take me to dinner, pick out a card, and buy chocolates. But I hate chocolate, the card isn’t his words, and this isn't his idea of a fun night. The truth is that if he had it his way, we would be watching football at home in front of the TV eating pizza from the box. I hate Valentines day.
Out of a relationship, the pressure is removed but Valentines still sucks. It’s a reminder to singles everywhere that, according to society, we have failed. I have failed. I, who have always striven for perfection..., I, who have always pushed for the A+... I, who will only play if I can win... I, have failed at love.
Not all love. Just the kind that involves an intimate partner. I've always capitalized on the holiday, by focusing on making my friends and family feel noticed and appreciated. But this year, something is different.
This year, I have a Valentine.
And he is the kind of Valentine that doesn't need a special day to be utterly romantic. He is thoughtful and kind, makes dramatic gestures, likes art, writes poetry, plans dates, always walks between me and traffic, is humble and sincere, pays for my meals, instead of meeting me at restaurants he picks me up for dinner, notices little things about me and makes me feel like there is no need to race because he isn't going anywhere, anytime soon. Yes, something is really different about this one. Suddenly I want to read poetry and listen to R & B.
Now, I'm a realist and who knows how long this infatuation will last or how much longer my Valentine and I will hold one another’s attention. By this time next week I may be hating John Mayer tunes and cursing at happy couples on the street. But for today, on Valentines Day, I have a Valentine. And just maybe, this year, I don’t hate Valentine’s Day.
I hate the pink. I hate the hearts. I hate the obscene feeling of obligation, the stench of rotten Valentines past lingering in the air, the sound of broken hearts crunching beneath my tepid sensitivities. I hate watching the cash register continue to tally the cost of $7.50 cards that will arrive late, be opened in haste and passed over in anticipation of the one from ‘him’. Since I was twelve years old comparing the number of M'n'M's that Lucy glued on Bethy's card versus mine, I have been shaking my box of valentines, unappreciative of what I've received and mourning what I’m missing.
I've ended 80% of my relationships before the impending doom of Valentines Day as a pre-emptive strike against inevitable disappointment. And the other 20% were miserable. My first love took me to the Keg restaurant for bottomless cokes and all-you-can-eat Caesar salads. My last love gave me a card. You see, Valentines Day celebrates all the things I hate about relationships. He reads a magazine that tells him he should take me to dinner, pick out a card, and buy chocolates. But I hate chocolate, the card isn’t his words, and this isn't his idea of a fun night. The truth is that if he had it his way, we would be watching football at home in front of the TV eating pizza from the box. I hate Valentines day.
Out of a relationship, the pressure is removed but Valentines still sucks. It’s a reminder to singles everywhere that, according to society, we have failed. I have failed. I, who have always striven for perfection..., I, who have always pushed for the A+... I, who will only play if I can win... I, have failed at love.
Not all love. Just the kind that involves an intimate partner. I've always capitalized on the holiday, by focusing on making my friends and family feel noticed and appreciated. But this year, something is different.
This year, I have a Valentine.
And he is the kind of Valentine that doesn't need a special day to be utterly romantic. He is thoughtful and kind, makes dramatic gestures, likes art, writes poetry, plans dates, always walks between me and traffic, is humble and sincere, pays for my meals, instead of meeting me at restaurants he picks me up for dinner, notices little things about me and makes me feel like there is no need to race because he isn't going anywhere, anytime soon. Yes, something is really different about this one. Suddenly I want to read poetry and listen to R & B.
Now, I'm a realist and who knows how long this infatuation will last or how much longer my Valentine and I will hold one another’s attention. By this time next week I may be hating John Mayer tunes and cursing at happy couples on the street. But for today, on Valentines Day, I have a Valentine. And just maybe, this year, I don’t hate Valentine’s Day.
Labels: Boy Stories, Pop Culture Casualty, Sober
