The Freelance Retort: The Valentine Conspiracy

Friday is Valentine’s Day.

Cupids and hearts abounding.

Roses and candy…sweetheart dinners all arounding.

Oy….

Now I have to go and buy a card.

Maybe a box of candy.

Maybe a cute little cuddly stuffed animal.

Valentine’s Day.

Oy….

And that’s just for my doctor, who I've only met once, but seems like a nice guy.

Still, that’s the last time I make a doctor’s appointment on Valentine’s Day.

I don’t know what I was thinking.

I guess I wasn’t thinking; that’s the problem.

To be honest, I’m not sure if he’s expecting anything, but I don’t want to take any chances.

You never know.

It’s a funny holiday.

Some people think it’s silly and pointless; just another occasion promoted by the card companies and candy people.

A chance to quadruple the price of red roses.

Others place great significance in it, thinking it speaks volumes about how you feel about a person. Or they just like getting candy, cards and flowers.

I fall somewhere in the middle. I don’t think it’s a bad idea to take an opportunity to show someone that you love and appreciate them and in turn, value their love and support.

But why do we have to designate a day to that? Shouldn’t we do that every day?

Do we really need to make a big show of it?

Are a dozen red roses worth anything to a person just because they’re expected…especially if they don’t even like roses, red or otherwise?

Wouldn’t they prefer to receive a basket of what actually are their favorite flowers on a Wednesday in March…for no special reason other than the sender was thinking of them…which had nothing to do with their great grandmother's antique ceramic cat with those big creepy eyes that follow you wherever you go, even when you’re not in the room with it, that coincidentally just happened to fall off the shelf and onto the floor and smashed into a billion pieces.

Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise?

Or instead of going out for a fancy dinner, at double the prices with triple the crowds, how about ordering in some Chinese take-out and eating alone in front of the fireplace, while College Game Day whispers ever so subtly in the background?

Wouldn’t that be a nice change?

Or instead of spending $6.75 on a talking musical Valentine card, with a sentiment created by some bored freelance writer for $15 bucks a throw, how about leaving a little note of appreciation by the coffee maker on a Tuesday in June.

How about that?

Always a nice gesture—even with the gentle reminder that an extra half scoop of coffee always enhances the flavor, except in the store bought brands, which nothing helps.

Or telling your spouse that replacing the 40 inch flat screen that was purchased just one month before with a newer 50 inch 3D model is perfectly fine with you….

What greater expression of love and affection can there be than that?

Right?

But no…instead we’re held hostage to the great “Valentine Conspiracy” of red roses, cards and candy.

Such creatures of habit and convention, we humans be.

And despite what people say, none of this has anything to do with the bitterness I harbor from the first grade when Marybuttercup Pennyloafers sent everyone in the class a Valentine, except me.

Really…it doesn’t.

Sure, that stung a little when my stack of V’s was one card shorter than everyone else’s.

Do you know how long it took me to go around counting everyone’s pile? Especially since our basic math skills were still in the developmental phase?

But, no… I’m way past that now; especially since Ms. Marybuttercup has not seen a single card from me in years.

That’s right….uh huh, uh huh.

Besides, by now I’m sure her pony tail has long since been restored to its former glory…and how long can glue hold a person's foot in their shoe?

I mean really…how long?

So that’s where I come out on Valentine’s Day. It’s a nice idea gone way too commercial, like everything else that starts out with good intentions.

Z understands my feelings on this and my feeling about her. She doesn’t need all that Valentine fuss and muss. She doesn’t want nor does she expect me to go to all that bother…hasn’t for years.

She’s okay with it, which is why she lets me stop by our house on Mondays and Thursdays.

Sure…that also happens to be the night the garbage has to go out…but that’s mostly coincidental.