Valentines Day is a week away. It’s already become a thorn in my side.
Ive been forbidden to talk about it in my house. As the only person in the house who possesses a significant other, I am not allowed to rant about the meaningless of the commercially produced holiday. However, over the years, through both significant others and singledom, I have always hated Valentines Day.
London seems filled with love this year. I walked into my housing reception today for coffee, and found it pink and heart-bedecked, with a internal Valentines post office in place. Internet connections and power outlets are falling apart in my building block and all the other blocks I know, but it’s ok – The Pink Valentines Day Post-Office is in play! I went to buy a notebook today, and could only find them sprinkled with red glitter and pink hearts. Even my favourite Starbucks barista boy betrayed me by etching a foam heart on my latte today afternoon. My favourite professor winked at the end of class today and exclaimed, “Next Monday, a special mush-filled Valentines themed class!” If I didnt think she was the coolest person on the planet, I’d have thrown my bag at her.
I recently told my S.O that he is one of my favourite people in the world. It was the most important and meaningful thing I’d told anyone in a long time. More so, because I genuinely meant it. I told him when I was unshowered, with messy hair and clad in my mother’s oversized tshirt. I told him because I wanted to, at that moment, when the sun was streaming in through the window, and birds were chirping from the river. I told him on some idle weekday, just because. I didnt need it to be February 14th, I didnt need us to be at an overpriced restaurant, I didnt need us to be formally or prettily clad. I just needed to know that I was happy, and that I knew for a fact that he is one of my favourite people in the world.
No-one needs really needs Hallmark or Carlton cards. No-one really needs all the hearts. No-one needs the sentimental tripe of pink and red. And while I’d like a bouquet of daisies or a prettily wrapped something, I don’t need it. I won’t become a member of the lonely hearts club or sobbing into pillows society if I don’t get them.
I think I might just revolt against February 14th 2011. Especially if I get another foam heart in my coffee.