I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating my dinner when my mom looked up at me and said, “ So sweetie, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Who is going to be your Valentine?” For a nine year old, that is a traumatic question. No matter how I answer this question, I know exactly how the night will unfold.
As a kid in third grade, life wasn’t easy to start with, but Valentine’s Day was the WORST time of year for me. I was this tall lanky girl that could very easily be mistaken for a boy if you weren’t paying attention. (Hell, I was more interested in arm wrestling than drawing heart shaped cards!).
There was all the build up at school weeks before “V” day by the teachers and faculty. Sometimes I wondered if the staff was driving this so called ‘special day’ because of the lack of romance they had in their own lives. ( I know, I am a cynical B(#)$*#)($* )
I recognize I am trailing way off track here. For those who know me, I do this quite often. I am a creature of habit. Back to the dinner table at home…I respond to my mother by shrugging my shoulders and hoping that she doesn’t continue with the conversation. However, this wouldn’t be an interesting blog if that were the case, now would it? After dinner, my mom and I cleaned up as we typically do and she leaves the kitchen but returns with something obviously hidden behind her back. As she beams at me, she announces that she had bought 25 Valentine cards for me to address to my closest 25 Valentines…
I sat at the kitchen table, bewildered by this whole concept, addressing Valentine cards to classmates that I had absolutely no interest in talking to, let alone sending mushy cards.
The next day was filled with red and white candies, streamers, balloons etc. Kids were exchanging Valentine cards for most of the day. As I looked around the room and watched my classmates brag about how many cards they received, I sadly looked down at the one I received from a boy that went through the same trauma I had. Last night his mother showed him that she believed that in order to be popular he was to give out as many Valentine cards as possible.
I vowed I would never celebrate Valentine’s Day again! The sad thing is, I married my first husband on February 14th! Now isn’t that ironic (or is that outright dysfunctional)?