So how does one spend their Valentine's Day if they are so unattached they couldn't even been seen as dangling from the weedy vine of potential romance, but free falling into the canyon of Dying alone? Well, as one of those untethered young people, I spent it as plainly and as simply as anyone would. Is there something wrong with that? Am I not meant to be bitter? Isn't is a requirement of single people everywhere to mourn their lack of romantic entanglement, and drown their sorrows in a box of chocolates their mother sent them? I don't think so. Even if a whiny poem does spring itself onto the pages of this blog with regularity; reeking of desperation, and cat-lady like loneliness that is my future, on Valentine's Day I don't mind.
When I was in elementary school, and my mother will attest to this, I never sent any Valentines, I myself, addressed. I would linger around the kitchen table with a 24 pack of Looney-Tunes Valentines and painfully linger over each one, and the corresponding class list. Was Daffy Duck too forward? Did Bugs really send the right message? Was Tweety saying he "Tot he taw a prurdy pal" really the right thing so send to another eleven year old? The act of expressing myself using cartoon characters would usually excite me. In the early days of MSN messenger I communicated almost exclusively with emoticons. But a Valentine? With love inscribed on the reverse? That was not something I could get behind.
I will not paint the portrait that I was a lonely child. I received many Valentines. Even though I never sent them, other, more productive children, never caught on to the fact I neglected to return their favors. This is the beauty of a classroom of 30 children sending Valentines to everyone. You can easily slip through the cracks unnoticed. Did I feel bad? Perhaps, fleetingly. But it never bothered me.
As years passed, and it became more about romance and less about cartoon cats saying cute things, I staunchly avoided the band-wagon. When roses were delivered or when heart shaped pieces of construction paper were pinned to the t-shirts of the opposite sex, I hardly noticed. Valentines meant fondu and a card from my Grandma. My participation was limited to those two things. Case closed.
So when I am expected to be bitter and sad, mouth smeared with chocolate ill gotten, I shrug. I've never especially hostile towards February 14th, and I've never been excited by it either. As others go out and express their love of one another, sending cards, and buying scented lotions, I can relax and type a blog. I can read my book, and tuck myself into bed. It's just a regular day.
Or so I tell myself...