Valentines Day. Woot. Woot. I am the Scrooge of Valentines, I swear it. If there were a workhouse to send all those damned little cupids to I’d have their diapered little baby bottoms shipped off faster than you can say pass me a Hershey’s kiss.
Blackmail. It’s blackmail. You have no escape. if you’re married, or in a relationship, or you’re a parent, you’re hooped. You’d better love up… you’d better spread that chocolate joy around… a stuffy here, a sucky card & a heart shaped box there, a flower over that-a-way, some koochee koo over this-a-way.
Christmas is a holiday I can get behind. I know it’s commercialized, I know I’m being manipulated from about September 1 onward to buy, buy, bake, cook, make, wrap, consume and stress, but at least it makes sense on an historical level to me. Valentines? Meh. Some old guy dying in a jail sends his gal a note and the people at Hallmark lose their sh*t.
I do it… I buy the sucky card, I buy the freakin’ chocolate, the little cutie stuffies for the kids, I decorate the table before dragging my butt to bed the night before, but seriously. Who am I kidding? I love them every day… I prove it by continuing to feed them. I only do this Valentines nonsense to ensure they are sufficiently manipulated and will thus provide adequate chocolate in return.
However, if somebody wants to prove they love me, they can indeed feel free to lavish any sort of gift upon me any day – February 14th need not be the only day of the year.