Today is Valentine’s Day. I really, really don’t like Valentine’s Day. I never have. Even when I happened to be blissfully content in a relationship full of sunshine and rainbows, this day always brings out the cynical crank in me.
I don’t know whether it’s the over-commercialized nature of this day with its ridiculous heart shaped everything or whether I was seriously wronged on this day in a previous life. But it just brings out the least lovey feelings in me.
When I was in middle and high school, I started a tradition in an effort to overcome my intense dislike of this day by getting 1 or 2 dozen roses on Valentine’s Day morning and giving one rose to all of my friends throughout the day. Their faces would beam at me as they gushed a “Thank you!” and I would walk away muttering a barely audible “welcome.” And it did nothing to reduce my disagreeable visage.
One would think that with my unadulterated, unfaltering, hopeless romantic tendencies that Valentine’s Day would be one of my most favorite days of the year. But it’s really, really not. I never expect anything grand on this day from my loved ones. And I never plan much of anything to give to my loved ones. Anyone who has been in my life for any amount of time, knows my disdain for this day, and therefore has learned to just avoid me. It’s the best thing for everyone really.
I’ve never really tried to put a happy face on this day for myself or anyone else around me. But this year, in my current state of hyper-awareness of my children, I wonder how they will take my crabby disregard for this day when everyone else around them is busy handing out valentines and making smoochy faces at each other. I wonder if I am unwittingly confusing the hell out of them. I wonder if I make them just a bit sad on this day. I wonder if I’ll ever really figure out why I hate this day so much. I wonder if it really matters.
In the meantime, I’m going to make my family cheesecake. Happy Valentine’s Day.
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