It’s not enough that us singletons survived the winter holidays. We’ve barely had time to catch our breath when we're lambasted by hearts, hearts, and more hearts. They come in all colors, sizes, forms, and substances. Even the visually challenged cannot avoid the abundance of heart shaped containers of chocolates and lesser candies; jelly-belly filled plastic hearts; fake wine bottles filled with candy hearts; hideous looking stuffed dogs and bears holding out bright red furry hearts; enormously obstructive heart-shaped balloons (Ever try to drive with those things in your car?); bright orange heart-shaped cushions; and every garment of clothing imaginable plastered with hearts – bras, briefs, t-shirts, sweat pants, scarves, and ear muffs. Aah, Valentine’s day. A time to celebrate love and romance. For us singles, opportunity awaits to fantasize about hiding in a cave (together, preferably). Give us some candles and matches, a large blanket or two, and a generous helping of chocolate M&M’s. We’ll be fine. After all, the world’s love-birds have a much greater challenge: find and purchase the perfect chocolate plus another perfect gift; then find and purchase the perfect card, with every syllable appropriately relevant to the nuances of your unique love; have a delectable romantic candlelight dinner, followed by a swift trip home for the most passionate sex you’ve ever engaged in – twice or thrice even. No pressure, no worries. You’ll be cool and suave through it all. It will be an evening your lover with never forget, topped off only by next year’s performance. If there are kids in the picture, good luck getting a quickie in at some point that evening or year. Or decade.
I wasn’t always so embittered. It started in second grade when Danny gave Chrissy the Valentine that said, “Will you be mine?” All I got from Danny was a stupid picture of a red-haired boy holding a baseball. The caption read: “Hey Sport, Happy Valentine’s Day,” He signed his first name on the back. I detected his love in the way Danny curled his "y." But I'm afraid that was it. From then on, I knew this wasn’t going to be my day. I hated sports. Plus, Danny was the boy of my dreams. I got lost in his freckly face, deep blue eyes, and adorable grin. We were going to get married. We’d have kids and a big yellow house with a grassy front yard and climbable apple tree. Being fairly perceptive, even at such a young age, I understood that this lousy Valentine – compared to the one Chrissy got; that b*tch! - was not likely to land Danny and me anywhere near that apple tree.
Still, I’ve braved the day with hopeful anticipation and a fluttering heart year after year. Once I got over Danny twenty years later, I had a crush on Jon. His beaming smile and light mustache, combined with a pleasant disposition, meant Jon was mine in a “4ever, kissing-under-a-tree” kind of way. We’d started the email and phone call thing. Come February, I nervously asked Jon for a date on V-day. Note that Jon and I hadn’t kissed yet, so this Valentine’s date would spark our happy future.
After a nice dinner and chat, we went to his place to watch a Mel Brooks flick per his choice. Hmm, not so romantic, I thought. But he is the one for me, and it’s Valentine’s Day, so I’m easy. I mean, the movie choice is fine with me. Well into the viewing, Jon still hadn’t made a move. I subtly inched closer and closer to him, as we sat side by side on the couch. At some point after the movie ended, Jon finally started kissing me. He really didn’t have a choice then, with no room to breathe. His only means of survival was to share oxygen. My subtleties worked; we made out like bandits for a heavenly 8.5 minutes or so. Suddenly, Jon stopped to feed the dog and send me home.
I suppose I should be grateful that I once sampled the kind of deep, meaningful, passionate intimacy that is celebrated on this dreaded day. I too was in one of those lovey-dovey couples featured on Hallmark cards. People stopped us on the street and said, “You’re so clearly in love. That’s really rare.” Part of the ecstasy is the newness of it all and the syrupy thought: “It’s everything I always dreamed of and more.” We vowed a lifetime to each other, and then it all ended. I’m 4 years older – those being key childbearing years. I’m broke emotionally and financially. The fear of giving my heart and soul again is, well, fearful. The feeling of isolation is, well, isolating. But enough self pity. Sorry. We all know that being broken-hearted is part of the human condition.
It’s like biting into a delectably luscious and beautiful morsel of chocolate – say, a truffle – and realizing, instead, that you are consuming something utterly appalling to the taste, like steamed brussel sprouts without cheese or even a splattering of cheese whiz.
Allow me to conclude by stating that love is worth celebrating – self-love, romantic love, love for children, family, and friends. It is good stuff, really. I mean, you know that. Know that I know that too. It’s just not necessary to shove it in our faces one day a year, thereby overwhelming the loving couples and ostracizing the singletons of the world. Moreover, chocolate must always be seen as a blessing and a gift. So I say to you my dear readers, buy your chocolate now before the prices sky-rocket! Enjoy every morsel of it on Valentine’s Day. Just don’t forget to enjoy all that is sweet all year long.
Chocolate kisses to you!
