just another day

The holiday of doom for all single folk rears its ugly tomorrow. A day where unattached people like myself must walk by couples with arms interlocked, facing each other as they stroll down the street, wrapped up in a Hallmark moment all their own, oblivious to the world around them, and contemplate why nobody is buying us diamond tennis bracelets or taking us out for a fancy dinner. A day where people engaged in public displays of affection make you want to run off and vomit even more so than usual, or make you mutter snidely under your breath, "go get a freaking room!" A day where as you walk by flower shops teeming with blossoms of all shapes and sizes, you feel thankful for not having to whip out your wallet to pay the insanely marked-up prices that the other sods will inevitably do in the name of love. On the other hand, a crimson blush of embarassment passes your cheeks upon the realization that you have nobody to offer the flowers to even if you had wanted to buy them.

February 14th is strictly for couples only. As if I don't feel like a third wheel enough the rest of the year. This ridicilous holiday only serves to emphasize my singleness, which at other times of the year safely passes for being an independent spirit. A lone wolf, if you will.

I haven't always hated this holiday. I can remember a time when I was, in fact, eager for this holiday to arrive. Nights before the fourteenth, I'd sit on the floor with my scissors, gluesticks, scraps of red construction paper and doilies fanned out around me, working furiously in an effort to create the finest Valentine's cards in the second grade class. Only a few years later, would I succumb to the pressure of scrawling the words "won't you bee mine" in pencil on store bought cards with pictures of cartoon bumblebees engaged in all sorts of romantic activities printed on the other side.

Then there was that time that I inadvertedly scheduled a first date for the evening of the fourteenth. "Let's just hang out and have sushi," or so I thought. It wasn't until the before the date that my friends reminded me that it was a Valentine's Date - stressing the word "Valentine's" with such intensity that it frightened me to the core. "What did that mean? Did I have to buy flowers? What kind of flowers are appropriate for a first date?" My head was spinning. Luckily, I got my act together and figured it all out before the nervousness and anticipation set in. What followed was an evening of great conversation and some star gazing. Romantic and schmaltzy, like a good Valentine's date should be. So you see, I haven't always hated it.

But now that I'm single, dateless, and not currently blinded by puppy love, I'm reminded of how ridiculous it is to have a Hallmark holiday devised to dupe the lovestruck populace into fueling the machine of consumerism. Fancy meals, expensive gifts, symbols of extravagance, all apparently to show how much you love your significant other. Like we really need another day devoted to that. What? Anniversaries and birthdays aren't enough?

And then there's the effect it has on us single people. Now the spotlight is on us to see if we can get your act together in the next 364 days so that the same embarassing thing doesn't happen again this time next year. Knowing me, I'll probaly still be dateless and sitting at home with the remote control in one hand, a cold drink in the other, and a TV dinner on my lap.

A friend of mine is going out for an anti-Valentine's celebration with a group of other likewise single girlfriends tomorrow. On a whim, ne of the girls in decided to make invitations for the event. The cover reads sarcastically: "It's just another day."

Perfectly said.