Happy Valentine’s Day
I’m interrupting my regularly scheduled column in honour of Valentine’s Day, the auspicious Hallmark Holiday which lines the post Christmas coffers of flower stores, card shops, jewellers, lingerie shops, and chocolatiers. A post-holiday celebration of capitalism and the powers of sex. Because, let’s face it, it’s still mostly men who are targeted by advertisements to shower their significant others, or potential significant others, with jewels, skimpy lingerie, flowers, etc in the hope of getting laid in exchange.
As you may guess, I don’t take the traditional approach to V-Day. Sure I had the same exposure to it when I was a kid as everyone else. The nasty chalky-tasting heart candies that had words on them, the little rectangular valentine’s wishes that you had to pass out to everyone in class (even the kids you didn’t like), the endless pink and red heart decorations. And when I got older and had a boyfriend, the stuffed animal gifts, the cheesy cards, my very first gold bracelet, my boyfriend pleading with me to have intercourse with him for the holiday (because, as a “Nice Catholic Girl,” I’d do anything with him except THAT).
I grew up with the same sappy, cliché ideas about love, romance, and sex that every other girl does. And probably even more so, because my parents always had a nice relationship. In fact, most of the relatives that I grew up with, and all of the parents of my friends, were still married. I was never exposed, as a child, to severely dysfunctional marriages or divorce. I grew up with, as I came to find out, very high (and unrealistic) expectations of love and relationships. And I believed that one day I would fall in love and live happily ever after. I believed that if a man told me that he loved me, he would be honest with me, he would be sincere, he would be kind…and that our feelings for each other would last forever.
Well that all turned out to be a crock of shit!
When my first boyfriend broke my heart, he broke something else, too. He broke my image of the world. He broke my idea of love. And forever since, instead of looking at the world of relationships through a pane of clear glass, I see a million tiny distorted images broken up in the shattered mess of what used to represent true love. My feelings and ideas about love and relationships are no longer clear and absolute. They change with the light, they change with movement…
I’ve never since been able to become involved in a “good” relationship with a man. Love and coupledom no longer bring a warm and fuzzy feel to my heart. The thought of anything other than a fleeting one night stand gives me goose-bumps and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Love and marriage no longer, and haven’t for many years, represent the ultimate goal in life.
So today, I celebrate Valentine’s Day differently than I did all of those years ago.
Each and every year that I am without a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day, I go out to dinner with my friends and I celebrate the fact that I am not caught in a bad relationship. I celebrate the fact that I’m happy, healthy and independent. I celebrate the fact that I have been able to extricate myself from relationships with two emotionally and verbally abusive men. I celebrate that I have no one in my life to hold me back from pursuing each and every dream that I have. I celebrate the fact that I’m not committed to anyone and can shag myself silly with anyone I choose, and also that I, somehow, evolved into a very sexually confident and adventurous woman in spite of the repressed upbringing I received. I celebrate the fact that I have wonderful friends, and that I am not afraid to be alone. And, even more importantly, I celebrate the fact that I have my own place and there’s no one to squawk about it if it’s an untidy mess!
Today I celebrate my singleness, and hope that every single woman and man out there is intelligent enough to feel the same on this sickeningly commercial holiday.
About the author: After receiving a nice, wholesome upbringing in a typical Midwestern town of the US, this intelligent, witty, and frequently snarky chick, craving adventure, managed to receive her first real-world instruction on the streets of Paris. After that eye opening and somewhat harrowing experience, on a whim, she moved to The Big Apple where she was permanently corrupted. She’s an armchair psychologist and enjoys analyzing herself and others, while maintaining a deep appreciation for the ironies of life.Visit New York Moments Blog
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