Valentine’s Day is upon us again, which means it’s time for Cupid to whip off his romper suit and start flapping about, making life for the cynical a living hell.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a flying baby can stir up such a mighty butterfly effect, but every time Feb 14 rolls around, I find I’m once again shocked to be enveloped by this pink and red parallel universe.
As the ‘magical’ day approaches you can feel a change in the air. Subtle but rampant. There’s an undercurrent of urgency, of desperation. A culture begins to develop where the normally self-possessed among us, lose their collective minds.
Petrol stations start thinking they’re florists in the mistaken belief that nothing says ‘romance’ quite like a rose in a plastic tube that someone has purchased after being asked ‘would you like any 2 for one mints?’. Some genius in a teddy bear factory decides that the market needs nothing more than a sea of stuffed animals that are bigger than peoples lounge rooms, and unromantic individuals break out in hives as they tell themselves ‘If I just make an effort for this one night, I’ll be off the hook for the next 364’.
In the midst of all this madness, however, it’s the single among us who often make the most seismic of mental shifts.
The normally reasonable, suddenly lose all concept of reality as they enter a world where they would rather perform surgery on themselves with a corkscrew, than have anyone think they don’t have a hot date lined up for the evening. As this paranoia spreads, the disturbing reality is, that a frightening number of the usually composed, will be travelling home with the knowledge that the flowers and singing telegram they received in front of everyone in the office, will soon be making a second appearance – on their credit card statement.
Cupid sticks his little nose in and suddenly people would rather fork out their hard earned cash than risk their fellow workers discovering that the only spooning they’ll be doing, is the kind that involves getting the contents of their Lean Cuisine from its microwave safe dish to their lips.
Is it just me, or does this seem a little unhinged? Pardon my ignorance, but I don’t see what the problem is with sitting at home knee deep in Thai takeout on loves night of nights? Have those among us who hang their worth as a human, on their ability to get a Feb 14 date, actually been to a restaurant on Valentines Day? It’s a nightmare.
Usually when you go out for a meal, there’s a slim chance that you’ll be challenged to keep your dinner down because of the rouge couple in the corner who spend more time eating each other’s tongues than their mains. However, when 7pm on Feb 14 hits, if you’re not copulating on the table, you’re the odd one out. It’s nauseating. I’d rather be lying on the couch watching rubbish I’d never admit to IQ-ing, than trying to swallow my Steak Diane in a sea of 15 couples waist deep in foreplay.
If you’re single and you don’t have a date on Valentine’s day, that doesn’t make you any less of a person, and if you’re in a relationship where you have to wait till the middle of February every year to get your partner to put in a little effort, it’s probably time you packed your little handkerchief on a stick and set off for greener pastures.
I’m ready for the love hearts and roses to be packed away, for cupid to put his clothes on and holster that damn weapon, coz when I think of a baby pointing a crossbow at me, the last 4 letter word that comes to my mind is ‘love’.
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