Valentine's Day has been my least favorite holiday for as long as I can remember. In grade school when we had to bring valentines for everyone in the class, I used to agonize with my peers over which cards to give the boys because it was absolutely not acceptable to give a card signed with "love."
To me, it has always seemed to be a holiday overdeveloped by Hallmark into some sort of Love-Godzilla that has gotten sick after too many of those vile candy hearts and can only be brought down by red heart tinsel — basically, a kind of nightmare.
If you are single, or as others often prefer to be called, unattached, Valentine's Day will suffocate you.
After they clear the holiday leftovers out of the convenience store shelves, you can't seem to buy paper plates without passing a dozen decorations and heart-shaped paraphernalia.
Store windows advertise chocolate boxes and recommend gifts for him and for her.
This brings about a whole new disaster — what you are expected to buy for that significant other. The prospective pitfalls are numerous as you debate between simplicity and going all-out.
From an early age, as I watched friends get gaudy and fake jewelry, or a heart-shaped lollipop instead of the meaningful gift they hoped for, I saw that Valentine's Day was a day apt to disappoint.
As a teenager, I was so desperate to avoid the day altogether that I went downstairs dressed for school in my favorite black sweater and blue jeans, hoping to bypass all that pink and red silliness. I compromised with my best friend on heart-shaped earrings, and it has become my one concession to the day ever since.
What I love most about Valentine's Day disparagers such as myself is that we are a diverse group. For example, men and women of any age for various reasons come together in a rebellion against
Cupid's evil ways. Whether it is a couple that believes it is silly to create a day to celebrate their relationship, or a cynical single, the world is full of people with Valentine's Day horror stories.
Even my little sister came home from school one day in the fourth grade holding a big, stuffed dog by the ear, her mouth set in what seemed to be a permanent scowl.
"Look at what he did," she muttered, not indicating who "he" was, or what sin he had committed. She plopped the dog down on the kitchen counter, squeezed his tummy and crossed her arms as we all stood back and watched the dog sing and dance to "Shout."
"Do you see how embarrassing that is? Can you even imagine?" she demanded, drawing out the "imagine" until drama hung on every syllable of the word. Once we recovered from a seriously contagious bout of laughter, we pointed out that at least she had gotten a gift and that it was sweet.
It is a holiday fraught with disaster, and I truly believe that it is a result of the pressure that comes with a seemingly innocent day out of the year.
If you think about it, the only point of Valentine's Day is love, that multi-faceted, loaded word.
What is it about love that makes it so hard to express?
Sometimes I think it's because when Feb. 14 rolls around, love is all about your favorite kind of rose or the perfect dinner. The truth is, if this makes sense, love isn't meant to be one specific thing.
Love can be present in a date during which every single thing goes wrong, the same way it can be present in a night with your best friends, with Chinese food and favorite chick flicks. Love can even be found in that blush that lasts for hours after you receive your singing valentine.
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