I was going to write a post about how being all grown up (kind of) is a hideously scary and frustrating event, particularly because bank accounts don't allow me to highlight different sums in different colours so I know which money is designated to which spend (I'm a visual person in case you didn't pick up), but I was interrupted by the arrival of my least favourite, yes, even ahead of the much-detested Christmas, 'holiday'.
Valentine's Day.
I realise that by writing this, I am acknowledging its existence and thus validating it in some way, going much along the same logic of my dear friend one night when I asked her if she was going to someone's birthday party, and she responded emphatically, 'NO! because then I'd have to get him a present, which acknowledges his existence, which then validates him as a human being'.
I suppose it's painfully obvious to all that no, I do not have SO (Significant Other), or even an IO (Insignificant Other). I have instead, my mum and godmother coming over tonight, where we shall binge on chocolates (yay!) throw truisms around (eg 'men are all dirty old men if they go after a younger partner, but women are cougars. hell yeah'), and watch boston legal (double yay!!). But before tonight approaches, I would like to share my personal thoughts on this matter with you all, dear readers.
The main objection which I raise to this god-forsaken holiday is clearly that prevelant within it is the colour pink. And I hate pink.
My secondary objection is that there is some supposition that on Valentine's Day, you must be extra-specially nice to your loved one, shower them with gifts and candy and sweet nothings...you get the idea. This is all fine, I am definitely not averse to being showered with gifts and candy - it's kinda like what happens on my birthday (although I hate them too). What I really dislike, is that it sort of sends that message that this is the one day of the year that you are meant to be attentive to your SO/IO, and the rest of the days of the year, you can just sort of ignore them because you have fulfilled the Valentine's Day obligation.
Screw Valentine's Day (god I was censoring myself on that first day), if I'm with somebody, it's because they make me feel special every day of the goddamn year. They tell me that my eyes friggin sparkle with the beauty of a thousand moons. They laboriously translate epic love poems into Klingon and recite them to me so that I can laugh at the stupidity of it.
It looks like at the core I actually am a romantic. How sickeningly disappointing.
Moving past this hideous revelation about my character, I guess the point I am ultimately trying to make, is that if one were to actually give Valentine's Day the (of course) metaphorical finger, and then all the couples of the world could appreciate each other on every other bloody day of the year, I think that would actually make the divorce rates of the world a little lower, at the very least.
That, and us single, misanthropic, near-nihilists, don't have to have the fact of our oneness reinforced at every. single. turn.
This being said, quick shout-out to The Husband, whom I forced to mail me a card. I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of my lovely postie in the hope that it comes today.
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