Monday, February 14, 2005
is there already an official Valentine's Day grinch?
Ah, Valentine's Day, I loathe you so. I hate the commercialism of you, the way you turn love into a cheap chocolatey gimmick. I hate the way you make out-of-the-clique kids in school feel and the way you make single adults feel. Burn.
And now I'll stop talking to an idea, which isn't even an inanimate object, which means I'm triple crazy. But I really don't like Valentine's Day. This is not to say that I grit my teeth while being told "Happy Valentine's Day," or that I won't make Ben a card later today (procrastinate much?), because I'm not that far over on the Old Lady side of the spectrum.
I suppose I should tell a V-Day story here, if only so this isn't merely a bitching post. Okay, how's this: when I was fourteen or so, Dad bought me and the sibs each a little box of candy for Valentine's Day. I was so excited (always been a sucker for paternal displays of affection) and happy, and then I looked at the box and it was one of those joke boxes. You know, the front said "Your teeth are like stars, Valentine," and the inside said "Do they come out at night?" Yes, it's funny, and I would enjoy getting something like that now, but at fourteen I was pretty fragile, and it was a huge disappointment. I wanted something nice and sweet, maybe with frolicking unicorns emblazoned across the front. (I kid!) You can tell that my father was never a fourteen-year-old girl.
And here's how you can tell I married a man who is exactly like my father, like all the books say happens: from my loving spouse, for my birthday, a rather important birthday, I received a card and a t-shirt. NOT JUST ANY T-SHIRT. No, this was a "How do you like your pussy?" t-shirt. Moving, huh? He means well. That's all that matters.
And now I'll stop talking to an idea, which isn't even an inanimate object, which means I'm triple crazy. But I really don't like Valentine's Day. This is not to say that I grit my teeth while being told "Happy Valentine's Day," or that I won't make Ben a card later today (procrastinate much?), because I'm not that far over on the Old Lady side of the spectrum.
I suppose I should tell a V-Day story here, if only so this isn't merely a bitching post. Okay, how's this: when I was fourteen or so, Dad bought me and the sibs each a little box of candy for Valentine's Day. I was so excited (always been a sucker for paternal displays of affection) and happy, and then I looked at the box and it was one of those joke boxes. You know, the front said "Your teeth are like stars, Valentine," and the inside said "Do they come out at night?" Yes, it's funny, and I would enjoy getting something like that now, but at fourteen I was pretty fragile, and it was a huge disappointment. I wanted something nice and sweet, maybe with frolicking unicorns emblazoned across the front. (I kid!) You can tell that my father was never a fourteen-year-old girl.
And here's how you can tell I married a man who is exactly like my father, like all the books say happens: from my loving spouse, for my birthday, a rather important birthday, I received a card and a t-shirt. NOT JUST ANY T-SHIRT. No, this was a "How do you like your pussy?" t-shirt. Moving, huh? He means well. That's all that matters.
