Ed’s note: I generally won’t post on Saturdays, but this is a special occasion.
Dear Saint Valentine:
There are a few of you buried throughout Europe, according to Wikipedia. You’re all martyrs of a bygone era. But to the one whom I am speaking to — and you know exactly who you are were — I think I speak for most men when I say, I hate you.
The holiday that bears your name, and is celebrated today, was allegedly created to out do the Pagan holiday Lupercalia. Suffice to say, your day did the job. Is this where this capitalistic mess started?
Some 500-or-so years later, women everywhere anticipate this day as much as they do their birth-dates and relationship anniversaries. Meanwhile, most people, including myself, didn’t know what Lupercalia was until they read this or, in my case, looked it up on Wikipedia.
Today, men everywhere line the walls outside of floral stores, some in freezing weather, to go in and buy roses that, in two weeks, will be cost substantially less. Some go further. They buy trinkets, cards, dinner, groceries to make dinner, chocolate, chocolate covered strawberries, white-chocolate covered strawberries and the sometimes dreaded engagement rings.
All this is to please women who have been conditioned since they were six to believe this one day is more special than any other in concern with romantic love, save her wedding day. We men have little choice but to participate, that is, if we want to sleep soundly and safely in our own beds again before St. Patrick’s Day (What is it with you Saints and American holidays?).
I tell you, I’d rather America replace your ridiculous 24-hour period with Left Handers Day as a national holiday … and I’m a righty.
Don’t get me wrong. I have no problem with people showing affection for their significant others through material or thoughtful means. But for everyone to do it on one day when everything you buy is marked up at ridiculous prices? That just seems a little much.
I’ve been blessed to skip out on six of the last seven Valentine’s Days without much damage (one reason I’m thankful my ex-girlfriend is as crazy as she admits she is). The one time I “celebrated” your day in that period, I was trying to piece together a decent day for a female friends who was being mistreated by her on-again-off-again man.
She deserved and needed it. So I laced her with flowers, an Italian dinner and chocolate. And at the end of the night, we shared a kiss. I felt like I was smooching my sister, and I know she had similar thoughts. I haven’t aimed a kiss at her lips since.
Aside from giving her the night she deserved, I felt like I had wasted money I could have used for something else. I refuse to blame her or myself. No, I fault you, Saint Valentine, the creators of this God-forsaken day and the persons responsible for turning it into a commercial fiasco. Those people need arrows to the dome from Cupid’s bow.
Insincerely forever yours,