Bizarro Valentine’s Day

My father isn’t afraid of many things. He’s a former Marine who owns a lot of guns and quite frankly, if you don’t know him, looks terrifying in a big, angry sort of way.

One thing that does scare his socks off is my independence. He fears my not needing anyone will lead to my never finding someone and spending my life sad and alone. This manifests itself in many ways, most notably on Valentine’s Day when my father sends me a bouquet of flowers so he doesn’t have to picture me sitting at my desk, fighting back tears because I’m the only girl in the office who doesn’t have a Valentine.

And while I could definitely do with fewer talks on the back porch of my parent’s home about how he would really like me to find someone, I do love getting flowers from him every Valentine’s Day.

I mean, what girl doesn’t love to get flowers?

A Valentine's Day Primer - Chapter Two

As a commenter and a couple of my guy friends pointed out -- there are a lot of women out there that hate Valentine’s Day and insist they want nothing to do with it.

 

These women fall into one of two categories. She has either a) been burned by this bullshit holiday in the past and is pissed she ever put any stock into the whole candy hearts and flowers industry. She is still smoldering and doesn’t want to get hurt again. Or, b) she's testing you.

Fortunately, you don’t need to know which type you are dealing with to know what to do.

Valentine's Day: A Primer for Men

At the Wawa (for those of you not from the Philadelphia area: this is a convenience store with the absolute best coffee ever. Also, back when they were still in the city they were a perfect place to pick up a hoagie after a late night of drinking – not that I know anything about that.) this morning I was reminded (by the display of candy hearts) that Valentine’s Day is right around the corner.

Now last year, following this most glorious day, I overheard a co-worker telling another co-worker about how excited his girlfriend was when she opened her Valentine’s Day gift. In his words, her excited was comparable to someone handing him keys to a vintage Camaro.

And what was this gift that inspired such excitement, you ask.

Yoga pants.

Poor boy. He saw what his girlfriend looks like when she’s faking it and didn’t even know it.

Valentine’s Day Wrap-Up

For more than 20 years I have hated Valentine’s Day. I say more than 20 even though I am more than 30 because I am pretty sure I loved Valentine’s Day as a kid. Then again, as a kid you don’t worry that the candy is going to make you fat and you were pretty much guaranteed a valentine from everyone in your class.

Four years ago, I had a boyfriend, and still managed to mess up Valentine’s Day. Three years ago, I was in the Poconos, with Bridie and her boyfriend, texting the Republican. Two years ago I promised not to hate the day, but still ended up drunk and sad, and then last year, well, last year was a blur, so I’m guessing more alcohol was involved.

This year was different. As the day grew closer I noticed my animosity didn’t grow; my mood didn't sour. I didn’t scoff at any of the thousands (yes thousands) of emails about Valentine’s Day specials, I didn’t fret about being out in NYC the Saturday night before, heck, I even wore red on the big day. I didn’t want to jinx my attitude, but I did begin to wonder if accepting that I was going to be single for life also released Valentine’s Day’s hold over me.

Still, part of me was convinced the lovefest couldn’t last. Part of me was waiting for the tears and self-hatred that always comes on February 14.

Now, earlier this year (or maybe it was last year) I made Rifka (a friend I met while trying to find a new best single girlfriend) sign-up with me for a Valentine’s Day Single’s Run. If anything was going to shake my bliss, surely being in a room of sweaty singles on the most romantic day of the year would do it.

Except, it didn’t. I enjoyed the run. Laughed with some strangers. Rifka and I got hit on by a couple of guys who bought us a round of drinks, it was actually a lot of fun.

And as I stood there, overhearing other conversations, women complaining about being alone and sad and just wanting somebody – anybody – I felt so relieved. I wasn’t angry or sad that I didn’t have a boyfriend. I wasn’t questioning my worth because this guy was hitting on me and not someone I perceived as better that was hitting on someone else across the bar. I didn’t feel rejected, later, when that guy started hitting on someone else, and I didn’t feel like a loser when Rifka and I cut out to grab burritos on our way home.

Instead, I felt incredibly lucky.

It was a Valentine’s Day miracle.