Shoot The Messenger

I finally know why Cupid carries a sack of arrows.  It’s not to shoot unsuspecting victims and make them fall in love with each other – because that’s a childish and stupid concept – and what horrible dating websites are for.  No, it’s a defense weapon against people like me who want to drop his fat little naked ass out of the air and stop the bullshit.

I know it’s not unique to hate Valentines Day. In fact, it’s rather cliché. And you know what, I’m fine with that. Call me cliché. Tell me I’m bitter because someone hasn’t handed me a box of chocolate since the days when I didn’t care about calories. (For those keeping count it was about 11.) It’s not my fault that my hopes and dreams are pinned on a red satin heart shaped wrapped box. It’s Hallmarks… or Oliver’s – the four year old boy I loved before I knew what love was.

When I was a little girl back in the 1800’s going to school on Valentine’s Day was one of the greatest days of the year.  This was the day you would find out which boy liked you and if you were lucky there would be more than one.  In the classroom there would be a box in the back of the room where you would drop your card for your valentine secretly and then the teacher would hand them out.  I loved these little cards and even at the age of 6 or 8 I loved getting more than one.  Greedy little bitch.  Boys would give you chocolate boxes their mothers bought or candy bracelets and all would be right with the world because a fellow 7 year old proclaimed his love for you with a heart filled with cancer causing deliciousness.

I didn’t do anything unusual for the candy like show my underpants behind the activity center or let someone play doctor with me in the nap area – I was just a nice little girl. Life was so simple back then. Someone liked you – they gave you a secret card.  Now I realize that I was set up for failure on February 14^th all those years ago and it’s been a giant disappointment ever since.  Now I realize that knowing if I’m loved is directly tied to this day in February. Valentines Day made me feel special and important and pretty. All these years later, it hasn’t changed.  I want a big heart shaped box filled with deliciously crappy chocolates and the bigger the box the better.   I don’t care if they come from Rite Aid or Ralph’s supermarket or some weird dude on the street with a cart.  I just want to remember the joy of the days when Valentine’s Day was a holiday I loved and looked forward to. Hallmark has been making me feel like a big fat alone loser and I want to sue them for years of torment.   So this Friday, I’m going to ignore the holiday who’s name shall not be spoken and embrace what is the truth of my life – I am loved – most off all – by me.  I am also a lot skinnier from not eating chocolate. So there’s that.