okay, so are we all going to talk about valentine’s day?  okay.

i guess it’s never really meant anything to me at all.  i don’t fall into the “it’s just about commercialism” camp, although i don’t disagree with that.  i’ve never had a large deal made out of valentine’s day by anyone i was dating or any of my friends or anyone i know.  the only way i’m ever aware that it’s valentine’s day is that on the thirteenth i receive five dollars and a valentine card from my grandmother.  i always joke that the five dollars she sends every year is her way of saying “here’s five dollars, i’m sorry you’re alone, please get married before i die.”  but really, i think it’s just a combination of tradition and force of habit.

in elementary school, we’d buy packs of muppets valentines from the drugstore and drop them into each classmate’s bag, with signatures hastily scrawled before the bus arrived.  in high school, the future business leaders of america would sell limp red carnations in green tissue paper for a dollar in the cafeteria, and girls would prance down the halls with trails of mylar balloons in their wake.  my current friends raid the sex shops and meet each other at hotels in small towns, and the sororities have bake sales.  my parents prop valentine cards on the kitchen table, with signatures hastily scrawled before the commute to work.  and it comes full circle.

do you remember my old post on the carbon-copy creepiness of corporate coffee?  that, i think, is the same problem i have with valentine’s day.  there’s inherently nothing wrong with romance, i just don’t want my romance to happen at the same time as everyone else’s, at the same restaurants and with the same overpriced red plastic byproducts.

but.  i’m printing up about eighty-six thousand of these.