This post
was going to be about how much of sham Valentine’s Day is. It would’ve gone something
like this:
V-Day blah,
blah, commercialism. Blah, blah, blah materialistic, nothing to do with love.
Bah – ugly lingerie, cheap chocolates and bad poetry!
My argument
was to be based on the premise that v-day falls on just another day of the
week. Then I thought how different is this to celebrating a birthday, for
instance? So, I tried a different tack – why should love be celebrated on one
day, designated by someone else?! This one was failing to convince me too. Then
I had to admit to myself that I am not averse to anything that could
potentially bring people together and make them happy. I’m down with that! In
fact, the tacky side of me, the side that loves reality tv, also loves ugly
lingerie and bad poetry. Although I always appease hipster me by
self-righteously mocking the lacy, red negligee in Edgars, I can’t help but
wonder what it would look like if I tried it on. In her song, Fuck & Run,
Liz Phair puts it nicely, “I want all that stupid old shit like letters and
sodas.” I’m with Liz on that. Getting flowers, a gift, a card, whatever - is
lovely.
I think my
problem arose out of the fact that I’ve been particularly moody lately and
anything pink, red, pink&red and heart shaped just seemed to stoke the fire
of my grumpiness. I could always claim V-Day for myself, you know, like, by
doing something alone. Uhmmm ... affirming my singleness i.e. independence and all
that stuff. I don’t think so! JC Le Roux can find someone else to hang out with.
I do feel it’s just one of them days that you need to celebrate with someone, a
real person, not a bottle with that person’s name on it. Having said that I’m
not going to start boiling bunnies and stalking Michael Douglas, I simply do
not have the time. Also, the thing is, even though I know I am too good for
him, I’d gladly allow Ryan Gosling to play his ukulele for me, while I dance –
badly, of course! It’s the only way I know how.
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