As Valentine’s Day approaches, I’m drawn into a forced faux-depression partially brought-on by commercials by Kay Jewelers, specials on chocolate covered strawberries by Godiva, and emails and tweets from restaurants reminding me to HURRY and make my Valentine’s Day dinner reservations at their romantically-lit fine dining destination.
The other part of my faux-depression is brought on by my friends who love Valentine’s Day and think that it’s the most special day of the year. This day is the one day that they can expect a “surprise” bouquet of flowers and perhaps breakfast in bed. Now, I don’t have anything against those people. In fact, I think it’s great and sweet for a couple to plan an entire Vday evening around each other (although i think it’s a shame that it can take that designated day to guilt that couple into doing so). In that same vein, I think it’s bullshit when people say that they don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day because you really SHOULD be celebrating your love EVERY day. Whatever. To me, that means you get a bye until next year when everyone hassles you about it again.
I call mine a faux-depression because while everyone is pro-love, pro-affection, pro-getting-surprise-bouquets this day, I (and all single people) feel like I should feel sad. Honestly, I don’t really care that I’m not dating anyone right now. This way, nobody eats the gummi bears in my pantry (mine all mine). Anyway, go ahead celebrate your love in my face and I will buy the candy that is leftover afterwards from Target at a hefty discount.
In any case, the point of all this is to relay, by far, my most tragic series of Valentine’s Day events. It may help to go back a few entries and read about A – he’s the star of this show.
Last year around Vday, A and I were in what I will loosely call our “prime.” He was falling asleep on my sofa at 9pm on a regular basis, and I was figuring out things for us to do while he sat around and waited for me to figure out things to do quite frequently. Vday was on a Saturday, and I had planned in advance and booked massages for that morning, to start the day on a nice note. My roommate’s wife was out of town, so he came along with us that morning. We stopped to have breakfast before our massages, and that’s when the shit started to fly. It went a little something like this:
Roommate: So, what are you guys doing tonight?
A: Oh, I dunno.
Me: I don’t know either! (at this point, I thought A was still being coy and tricky, hiding a huge master plan he had been planning since we were only a few months into our relationship)
A: Why, [roommate], you want to do something?
Me: Hey A, happy Valentine’s day.
A: *stare* Oh… uh… is that today?
NOW, as a girl, I expect certain things. I am ok with you not wanting to participate in Valentine’s Day. HOWEVER, if you are of that party, it is required that you have had at least one previous conversation with your significant other announcing your stance. Otherwise, there is a larger than usual chance that said significant other is thinking that you are going to tell her later to put on a dress and we’re going somewhere but I can’t tell you where because it’s a surprise.
Continuing on, we finished breakfast (with no doubt in my mind that I had to pick up the bill) and went to our massage (which I had also paid for). After the massage, I had to run a few errands on my own. When I got home later that afternoon, I found my living room what looked like the Valentine’s Fairy had vomited all over my mantle. Hanging across my fireplace was a banner that let me know which day it was (as if *I* was the one who needed to be told). Also on the mantle was a stuffed teddy bear that was most likely made by the worst of the sweatshops that send the terrible stuffed animals that HEB has during the holiday seasons. He was holding one single red rose, which I can only assume represented that while A could forget Vday, he could not forget what tokens of affection it necessitated. I don’t remember what we had for dinner, but I do remember it was nothing that impressed me… not that I was looking to be impressed anymore at that point. I do remember, though, that after a few glasses of wine back at home I tried to throw some hint-hint-hints at him, which hurtled feet above his head and clanged angrily on the wall behind him. Later in the evening, I decided to take matters into my own hands… and he halted those, uh, matters, so that he could calmly remove his shoes, socks, and watch and roll the socks to put them into his shoes. Talk about a mood-killer.
It won’t take much to top last Valentine’s Day. Sitting alone on my couch watching my dogs try to hump each others’ heads will top last Valentine’s Day.
On a side note, my favorite Vday gift given to me was gifted several years ago. What I thought was a terrible shitty teddy bear at first glance (see above) was actually an awesome amazing teddy bear.
He was wearing a necklace around his neck that was a gift for me as well, but the bear was by far the most impressive. I still have that teddy bear. A’s teddy bear was thrown away quickly, as I was too unsure about the safety of the fibers – I didn’t want the dogs to play with it. Also, it was of terrible quality and horrifying to look at. Nightmares.