|My Annual Pissing and Moaning about Valentine's Day
||[Feb. 13th, 2008|10:48 am]
I really HATE this "holiday". |
The agony of worrying in elementary school -- were you even going to get nearly as many as the "popular" girls? (No. Never.) While not a huge fan of schools regulating self-esteem, the current thinking that if your kid is going to do them, they need to do them for the whole class...I'm into that. Let your kid find out what a loser she is in middle school; there's plenty of time for that, don't start it any earlier than necessary.
A long blur of getting cards from my Dad, my grandparents...didn't think much about it until I moved in with/married a man who, through no fault of his own, was gift-impaired. For a while it was amusing -- found a fabulous card that said
I just didn't realize that I should have bought a gross of them, because I was going to need to send one every freaking year. Not that I even CARE about chocolate and flowers. (Wait. No, I CARE about them, but I care enough to buy them for myself when I want them.) But since I was married to a man who, the other 364 days of the year also never suprised me with chocolate or flowers or anything -- I had to remind him of my birthday, of Christmas...I thought, okay, here's one day a year where you are SLAMMED with reminders, where your co-workers (all male) are in the same boat...at least once a year, think about me enough to go get me a Whitman's sampler at CVS, for heaven's sake.
(For the record, he would get a fabulous dinner, champagne, steak/lobster, home made dessert, card, chocolates, etc. -- It's not like it was all on him.)
But whatever...then, I just stopped caring. I got my own damn chocolates, my own damn flowers and bemoaned my inability to get a card sent to my Dad on a timely basis. Then I didn't have a reason to celebrate, in theory, but that was totally cool, because I could do the whole fabulous dinner thing for ME and not be resentful that I was sharing it with someone who didn't give a rat's patoot about me.
Sure, now I have someone worth celebrating -- so why am I still bitching? I could say it's for the crass commercialism...okay. You'll never see me out in a restaurant on Valentine's Day -- not only can I sense the "turn the table, get 'em out, turn the table, get 'em out" emanating from the kitchen -- but the last thing I want to do is sit in a restaurant filled with a bunch of reprobates desperately trying to make up for 364 days of neglect by buying a filet and glass of overpriced champagne.
(Those of you who have reservations for tomorrow, don't worry, my misanthropic self will be safely kept at home. And I wasn't talking about YOU anyway. Don't be so paranoid!)
Oh, I'll have a lovely evening -- I'll do the dinner for someone who appreciates it. And celebrate the evening as a pagan would, before some stupid saint got his guts strewn.
But I'm surrounded by people who are...sad...or bumming...or cheerfully putting a good face on it because they don't have a special someone, or they do and that someone is away or that special someone isn't so special anymore...or....
The PRESSURE is killing me for them.
(And no, I wasn't talking about any of you specifically, once again, you paranoid peanut gallery.)
I don't understand how I can go blithely through the rest of the year, with a scarce shred of empathy, but this one, this one I FEEL all the hurt and wistful around me.
AUGH. Two more days of Deanna Troi-ness and then I'll be okay again.