Ah, we have come upon the week of Valentines Day. It’s the only holiday in which one (by one, I mean a woman) can have two polar opposite emotions on the spectrum; either they are dreading the bloody hearts and kisses everywhere or they are in love, and thus, excited to share their heart (as long as their date shows up with a pretty little blue box).
I, for one, have never been excited for Valentines Day. I have always viewed myself as a romantic, but even when I was in various relationships on this day, it has just never really lived up to expectations. The problem is that we have been bombarded with chick flicks our whole lives of all of these sweeping gestures and unexpected displays of emotion on V day, but in all reality, this rarely, if ever, happens. It normally ends up being an overpriced dinner for the guy who, if was coaxed properly, shows up with flowers, a lopsided teddy bear, and some form of jewelry dependent upon how long the couple has been together. But where is the true romance? Where is the meaning? Where is the love?
Everyone in relationships right now can tell me the love is there, but I can guarantee you that if the guy “decides” that love is enough and forgoes the flowers and teddy, there will be hell to pay. This leaves me feeling that love on Valentines Day is dependent upon xyz; you love someone more if they do everything by the book and less and less for the things that they forget. ”These rose are so beautiful, I love you.” “You didn’t even make a reservation?!” I am not saying that it is not great that there is a day dedicated to love; I love love, but the holiday is riddled with irony. I am also not saying that I am any better; there is nothing more embarrassing than having to tell friends and family about a bleak V date and I am a sucker for stuffed animals, in general.
Every year, we go into Valentines Day hoping that something truly wonderful will happen (not engagement..tacky) and although for the select few of us it does, for most it falls into the severely mediocre category. Romance is not always roses; it’s having an enlightening conversation surrounded by flickering candlelight and champagne in a makeshift rustic wood shack on the beach with The Beatles softly serenading us. Yes, the odds of this ever happening are basically zero, but who needs realism when you can have fantasy.
In final analysis, this year I will be working on Valentines Day.
Let it be,