I’m a cynic. So it’s reasonably predictable that I think Valentine’s Day is a crock of shit. To anyone who enjoys it, fair enough, you go ahead, but I can’t, so the next person who tells me I need to relax and appreciate the day thats in it can just go have an anal bleaching, my treat. Relax with a stinging pink asshole, fuckheads.
Why do I feel that this holiday is bullshit? The obvious reply is the complete made-upness of the whole thing. It has no basis in anything but the retail industry. But the real problem isn’t that its arbitrary. Its that it is the most predictable, boring, entirely unromantic holiday known to man.
If someone spontaneously gave me a rose one day, I would be deeply impressed, and highly complimented, and would very much appreciate the gesture. But any gift given on Valentine’s day can never be a surprise, and can almost never be original. It’s all been done kids. You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake.
I have had great Valentine’s day presents, I’m not bitter from a lifetime of secret unfulfilled desires for hearts and flowers on February 14th. The first couple of real boyfriends that I had during any Valentine’s Day performed admirably, I have to admit. But it irks me to realise that those gifts would have been better if they’d been given at any other time. Their thoughtfulness was partly wasted because of the banal nature of the day. Not to mention that attempting to go anywhere on said day is about as romantic as a supermarket queue. Except that it involves a lot more standing around and waiting, after which you finally get seated, order from a set menu, and receive slightly overcooked, not so great food, which you then pay a fortune for. Stunning.
In my last relationship we ignored it completely, which I found I was entirely happy with. Of course, this would have happened by default whether I had wanted to or not I think, because there is very little hope that he would have ever actually remembered that the 14th Feb had any cultural significance, and I realised yesterday that I find it quite difficult to recall myself. I find it a non-event, and I’m happy to do so. I spent yesterday evening sipping champagne in the Tate Modern, with two good friends, and having a wonderful time. Its probably the best 14th Feb I’ve ever actually had.
I think the point here is spontaneity. Or maybe just lack of obligation. If I think someone has given me a present because they have felt obliged to, I will be totally incapable of treating it as a romantic gesture. I’ll still appreciate the gift itself, but it will not mean the same as something given because they actually wanted to give it to me. It was pointed out to me recently that men do not give sudden surprise presents for no reason. However, that’s a load of horse-shit. The best presents I have ever gotten have been surprises, with no motive but wanting me to have them.
Maybe you can’t be a cynic and a romantic at the same time, I have been told I was both at various stages. I suppose if I were to choose a way to be treated I’d go for as a cynic every time. But somewhere I have some sort of romance in my soul, much to my chagrin. And that, not the cynic, is the part of me that fucking hates Valentine’s Day.