Sunday, February 14, 2010

Valentines Day Redemption




I hate Valentine’s Day. I hate it because every year, in the days leading up to Valentine’s Day, I become hopeful… hopeful that someone will come into the scene and sweep me off my feet. Ever hopeful that some tall, dark and handsome man will tell me that he loves me madly, and couldn’t bare the thought of living without me. I exist in a state of romantic euphoria, waiting for that T.D.H.M. (tall, dark and handsome man) to burst into my life. I wait, and I wait, and I wait. And I wait some more. I wait until finally I realize that just like the year before, no one is coming for me. No one is waiting with roses and candy. There will be no one holding that coveted blue Tiffany’s box full of jewelry. Once again, Cupid has forsaken me.PLEASE!!!” We are those at the grocery store who frown furiously when we see two lovebirds flittering through the cereal aisle. We are the ones who wish we could take our Valentine’s Day induced rage out on those that are lucky enough to have found love.

I’ll never forget a particular Valentine’s Day when I was in high school. As I walked down the hall with that “love me PLEASE!!!” look on my face, I saw this girl walking toward me holding the biggest brown teddy bear I’d ever seen, so enormous that she was struggling to carry it. Suddenly the rage with in me started to bubble over. I wanted to take my aggression out on her. I wanted to trip her, take the bear and run. As she came closer and closer, I saw the exact spot on her leg where a minimal amount of effort on my part would cause a maximum amount of pain on her part. A sneaky little voice in the back of my head taunted me, telling me how easy it would be. But in the end, I couldn’t go through with it. “Why should she have to take the brunt of my rage?” I asked myself. Me wanting to trip her was just a manifestation of my bitter feelings of being alone.

I get those feelings of bitterness and loneliness every Valentine’s Day. I even feel despair. Despair at the fact that I’ll probably have to endure many more Valentine’s Days alone, finishing off a whole cheesecake on my own (I don’t recommend doing this, my worst stomach ache ever ensued). I fear that my single status will spread beyond Valentine’s Day and into the rest of my life.

I can already picture it. When I get older, I’ll be the Cat Lady. You know the one that I’m talking about… the lady that lives in a tiny house reeking of used kitty litter, with nothing but her seventeen cats to comfort her. What makes this vision even more pathetic is the fact that I’m horribly allergic to cats. My eyes swell shut and my nose perpetually drips snot. My love life will become so dire that I’ll have to resort to spending my time with a bunch of creatures that make me deathly ill. There I’ll be, with my seventeen cats and my eternally snotty nose.

But even though my romantic future looks bleak, and although at times it seems that the only way I’ll ever get a date is if I go out with some smelly, leisure-suit wearing predator of a man with halitosis, I still keep hope alive. I may not find my sweetheart today, or tomorrow, or three years from now. It may not happen for another five years, but one day I’m certain some one will love me. Some one will do back flips for me, snatch up the moon and stars just to please me; some one will appreciate me for the neurotic, dramatic, silly person that I am.

Deep down I can’t really hate Valentine’s Day. I will admit that the only reason I despise it so is because I’ve always been jealous of those who are fortunate enough to have someone they care for, just as they are cared for. I’ve always been terribly annoyed by the fact that it was so hard for me and so easy for them. But I’ve changed. This Valentine’s Day, I’d like to turn over a new leaf, and a new heart. I vow to cast my bitter feelings and self-pity aside. I will look on the brighter side of things, and if I should come across a girl carrying a giant teddy bear, I won’t contemplate tripping her and grabbing her bear. I’ll just think about snatching the bear. Hey… don’t get mad! You can’t expect me to change over night!



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2 comments:

  1. I remember that girl with the teddy bear in high school. And don't lie . . . you pushed her a little. ;-)

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  2. A good friend of mine once said that while all women are afraid of ending up alone with a house full of cats its far better than being stuck with 1 mean old husband.

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