Thursday, February 14, 2013

Valentine's Day: Post-mortem




Before I went to bed on February 13th I picked out an outfit. When I woke up in the morning it would be Valentine’s Day and I wanted to feel pretty- instead of the unlovable can of slop I had been feeling like for the past few weeks. I knew that I would be walking into an office full of “Surprise” flower deliveries and chocolate explosions and overly perky women in snuggly red sweaters. I needed armor.

Cute sweater, little black skirt, black stockings, sexy purple boots. I made up my face and headed out the door ready to stick my single, sexy booted foot up Valentine’s Day’s ass.

By 9am I had the first run in my pantyhose and by 1030 I had managed to completely mutilate them with the zipper from my left boot. It was very punk rock but not quite business casual. Bye-bye “I feel pretty” skirt, hello jeans that probably should have been washed yesterday. Great, there goes my self-empowerment Valentine’s Day.

But, as I was sitting on the toilet MacGyvering my stockings into socks, I remembered something; I don’t care about Valentine’s Day.

I’ve been reeling from the death knell of the most important relationship of my adult life (so far, fingers crossed) and everything got twisted in my head. The thought of my ex with his new girl on this oh so hallowed of Hallmark holidays so soon after learning that we were never, ever, ever getting back together made me feel like I was going to fall apart because I was alone and unloved.  (Cue any song Morrissey has ever written but Unlovable would be most appropriate) But that’s not who I am, or, more importantly, not who I want to be.

Valentine’s Day serves 1 of 2 purposes it’s either an excuse for you to make someone feel special or an excuse to feel bad about yourself. Neither one is necessary.

If you’re in a relationship with an other, significant or otherwise, who makes you feel special every Thursday and not just those Thursdays that fall in the middle of February then you know that you are loved and cherished and supported and wanted and appreciated and although “make your co-workers jealous” bouquets and fancy dinners are nice, you don’t need them.

If you’re not in a relationship and there isn’t someone who wants to make you feel special in the ooey-gooey romantic ways then beating yourself over the head with self loathing and romantic comedies and boxes of chocolate large enough to give yourself diabetes in one sitting isn’t going to do you, or anyone else in your life, any good.

This is something I used to know. Something I used to laugh about.  But here I was, caring about something that I don’t care about, fretting about something that wasn’t important to me, being someone that I’m not. I think I’ve had enough of that.

Today is just another Thursday and next year it will be just another Friday.  Maybe next year I’ll have a Valentine, maybe I won’t. Either way I am just as lovable on February 14th as I am on the 15th.  And Hallmark can just go to hell.  

Also, this makes me smile so big: 

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