I’ve always had a strong disinclination towards Valentine’s Day. I can easily recall my Middle School years, but most importantly, my High School years during this dreadful “holiday”.
All of the girls would rush in between classes out to the long table that was placed in front of the principle’s office, to see if anything had been delivered for them during class. It was like a sea of half dead wilted roses, and obnoxious large mylar balloons, with some Dollar Store looking teddy bears thrown in for good measure.
If you were patient enough, you could very easily witness every range of emotion in front of the table on that day. Elation, desperation, contentment, jealousy and my favorite, anger. It was all very laughable to me, because in my mind that table was just a very blatant clue of who was fucking whom. Or who was about to be fucking whom.
I had imagined those who got the $50 dollar flower bouquets were probably into anal. The girls who got the biggest heart shaped balloon with the additional heart shaped balloon stuffed inside were probably really being encouraged to use less teeth, if you know what I mean. And you don’t even want to know what my take on the single carnation eluded to.
Has my hardened heart gotten any softer over the years?
I still think it’s a shitty excuse for a holiday.
What happens in a nutshell is this. I typically end up eating all of the Aidan’s candy that was supposed to go on some shitty ass Pinterest project I roped myself into doing, because I wanted his Valentine’s to be different and unique. Not to mention, I could also possibly to look like a Mom who just might give a shit for once, instead of going to Wal-mart at midnight the day before the school party, only to end up with the last pack of Justin Bieber cards that Aidan would refuse to take anyway. So basically, in this scenario, Valentine’s Day makes you a compulsive candy eating fatass.
Then when my husband comes home with roses for me out of the goodness of his heart, the first thought that runs through my mind is this.
1. Fuck. Now I have to brave the thorns in order to put them in a goddamned vase.
2. Fuck. This is going to require a blowjob isn’t it? Because really, don’t all acts of kindness require blowjobs?
So in this scenario I’m required to do manual labor, and nobody likes manual labor. Especially me, when thorns are involved.
If you have kids, some might feel obligated to make them feel special on this holiday.
I don’t, but you might, and that sucks for you. I’m sorry.
Frankly, I think Brent hit the jackpot when he met me. I don’t expect him to take me out for a romantic night on the town on Valentine’s Day. I don’t want flowers, because frankly, they are a waste of money. I don’t want chocolate, probably because I ate all of Aidan’s classmates chocolate. I also don’t want an expensive meal or jewelry. Although jewelry would probably increase Bj’s exponentially.
I just want to be left the fuck alone so I can watch my Bad Girls marathon in peace and quiet. And the only sweet nothing I want him to whisper in my ear is “Rest. I’ve got all the shitty diapers today, baby.”
Happy Valentine’s Day, assholes.