V-Day Cynic

I never liked Valentines Day, not even as a kid. While not as blatantly manufactured as Sweetest Day, it is still pure show biz.

First there were the years where you had to give everyone in your class a valentine, followed by the years where only a few girls got all the valentines. Or cookies, or candy or roses, or whatever the scam was to raise money at the school that year. The ritual of having the purchased “valentines” delivered to girls during their classes only served to stoke the collective hatred for the already despised popular girls.

Please.

Even though we are out of school and have left the cheerleaders behind, we have graduated to women who get flowers delivered at work. Or worse, giant stuffed animals. I have nothing against public displays of affection, but I do have a problem with being a captive audience for the terminally cute. Especially when its all about the show.

I keep trying to figure out the equation to explain why Valentines Day is so darn romantic. Here’s my best guess:

a dozen roses, long stemmed delivery at work, followed by fancy dinner, multiplied by high heels, sexy lingerie and a blow job = marriage proposal or [(R + (L+W) + D] x [(H + L) =B] = MP.

Since there is no Grinch for Valentines, I will have to settle for being a Cynic.

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