Two (more) reasons I love to hate Valentine’s Day
[dropcap]I[/dropcap]’ve never really been a fan of Hallmark holidays and Valentine’s Day is no exception. Each year, it’s like card and gift shops have been injected with more and more cortisone, bulging at the seams with hugely inflamed red heart balloons, teddy bears and hastily boxed chocolates.
One of my many objections to the 14th February, and most Hallmark holidays, is that they promote the 3 Fs: Faking it, feigning romantic gestures and forcing people into behaviour patterns just to tick a box off on some mental life or relationship checklist. The mere fact that Valentine’s Day is such a successful marketing ploy just serves to highlight how most of our modern society revolves and thrives around being fake.
Don’t get me wrong, I consider myself to be quite a romantic man, but for me this is far less about an overpriced box of chocolates and far more defined by spontaneity, being considerate and expressing real and tangible emotional intimacy, the type that your head won’t stop your heart from doing.
There were, however, a couple of occasions when I got a tad too caught up by packaging and displays in Clintons Cards and went out on a limb on Valentine’s Day. I would like to share these stories with you now.
Let’s call our first guy ‘M’. M and I had been together for around 8 months. I had not long moved to London and M was, on paper, one of the good guys. Considerate, handsome, 6ft 5 and a really good kisser. As February was approaching, I decided that I would arrange a trip to Dublin for both of us over that weekend, just touting it as a city break away on ‘that’ day and he seemed really excited by the idea. As we boarded the plane, I remember looking at him and thinking he seemed a little distant, but I just continued to get bladdered courtesy of the drinks trolley and thought nothing of it. We went out in Dublin the following night (actual Valentine’s Day) and while we were in a club, he said he needed to go outside for some air. When he didn’t come back for a while, I went outside to find him smoking and chatting with some other guys. As I went over, he saw me and his face just dropped. I asked if he was ok and he said he didn’t know. When I ask if he wanted to leave, he just blurted out “THIS ISN’T WORKING! I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE!” At this point my friend Karen had come to see what was going on. The guys arounds us looked a little bewildered and I remember just getting my coat and leaving. That night I hardly slept at all. I was so confused and hurt and hated the fact that we would have to fly home together the next day in awkward silence. When we got to London, M asked if I’d like to go for a drink to just talk and I remember just saying to him “I think you’ve said enough!” I hugged him and told him to take care and barely heard from him again. I was horrified that I had possibly ruined our relationship by doing too much on Valentine’s Day, but as time went on, I saw him for the withholding
oaf that he always was. He was shit in the kitchen too.
A few years later, I found myself dating a nice guy. Let’s call him ‘A’. We had been going out for a couple of months. He seemed very standoffish at first, but I was quite attracted to that, as it cancelled out some of my neediness. V Day that year fell on a Tuesday and he invited me over for dinner and said we would just have an evening poking fun at Valentines. In my lunch break, I went shopping and bought him some electric pink Diesel boxer briefs for a jokey gift and thought I was playing it really well. When I got there, we had a glass of wine and I helped him cook and after dinner, I gave him the undies and he just went all quiet and awkward. I remember saying “It’s just a joke really” about 50 times and by the time my verbal diarrhoea stopped, I was in a taxi going back to mine and he had made me take the boxer briefs with me. I tortured myself for a while, but I can’t really get inside anyone’s head to see why they would see this gift as such an affront that it would make you not want to see someone again.
I realise that I shouldn’t blame Valentine’s Day for my bad experiences and obviously, it had more to do with me and M and me and A, but I do get bilious when I see all the crap being wheeled out in shops. It also disturbs me how it can affect singletons who are forced to wallow in sadness at being dateless and alone on such an important day. As if we didn’t have enough to deal with?
The best times I have had on V Day have been with friends. One time, we all went for dinner at Pizza Express and howled at the women there throwing evil side-eyes at their dates for taking them to PIZZA EXPRESS ON VALENTINE’S DAY! Another time, a dear friend and I went to the cinema to see Die Hard 14 and got mortal on wine we had smuggled in from Waitrose!
The moral of this story? The pink boxer briefs I bought are now used as a duster and every time I use them, I raise a wry smile and remember that even if that guy was not romantic, I still am and will always be on my own terms. Happy Fucking Valentine’s Day.
