Well, here we are. It's February and the 14th can't be avoided. For weeks now we've seen red everywhere as store windows have bludgeoned us with reminders of what's expected of us on Valentine's Day. Say it with flowers, say it with chocolate, say it with teddy bears, just say it!
Don't get me wrong, I am not a Valentine's Day Grinch. I actually love the idea of the holiday. I just wish it loved me back. It seems I either break up with boyfriends just before Valentine's or meet them right afterward, so most of my red-love-letter days have been - dare I admit it - spent alone. I know that Valentine's Day is totally devoid of meaning. It is a cheap and commercial institution. I know that Madison Avenue has ruthlessly co-opted our hearts in order to make those cash registers sing during the shopping doldrums following Christmas. Yet, before I totally condemn the day, I have to at least experience it. I want my Valentine's Day Do: the long stem red roses, the Godiva chocolates, the sparkling apple cider (I can't tolerate alcohol), the ridiculously extravagant night out and oh yes, the passion afterward.
The day usually starts out okay and I am on top of things until my co-workers begin receiving THE FLOWERS, THE BALLOONS, THE CHOCOLATES and THE CALLS. Still, I hold up pretty well. That is, until night falls when EVERYONE around me prepares for THE ROMANTIC EVENING, while I forlornly anticipate climbing those five flights of stairs to my apartment and turning the key, knowing there's no one there waiting for me.
I have come close to getting my Valentine's Day Do. There was one time when I was actually dating someone as the supreme event approached, however, we were fighting. But when we decided to forgive and forget, Baden invited me to his apartment for Valentine's dinner and celebration and I readily accepted. Throughout high school and college I had watched as my girlfriends celebrated Valentine's Day with their boyfriends, finally it was my turn and I was excited. I splurged on one of those monster three-dollar cards whose sentimental message was only outdone by the romantic note I penned. Eager, I arrived at the appointed hour (this was not the time to be fashionably late) and rang the bell. No answer. It might be broken. I knocked politely. No answer. I pounded that door. No answer. Figuring he might be unforeseeably detained, I hung around for 15 minutes and then shoved the card under the threshold. Boy, would he feel guilty once he saw this symbol of my love, I thought, desperate to salvage some satisfaction out of such a miserable moment. I went home. Stood up on Valentine's Day.
At work the next day, I waited for his apologetic call so I could tell him off and break up in grand style. It never came. Unable to contain my anger, I finally broke down and called him on his job. It's really difficult having an argument while trying to appear professional, I discovered as I screeched, "Where were you?" into the office phone. "Where were you?" he yelled back, equally angry. Through whispered shouts, we discovered that I had gone to the wrong building. Egg on my face. Well, he had recently moved into a row of buildings on Huntington Avenue in Boston that looked alike, and since we had been fighting I hadn't visited him in a while. However, thinking that I knew where he lived I left my house without knowing the exact address (cell phones did not exist then!). Didn't I feel foolish thinking about the person who had read my card. We decided to do Valentine's Day that night. It was lovely. My exonerated beau went all out with the champagne (I could drink then), the card, a home cooked dinner and a beautiful pearl necklace. Still, it wasn't Valentine's Day. (All right, I can be shallow!)
That was the best Valentine's Day I almost had. For two years I dated someone who insisted that Valentine's Day was politically incorrect. I agreed, but suggested it might be fun getting swept away by capitalism just this once. Though I begged, pleaded and gave him a box of chocolates (I was not trying to manipulate him!), he stuck to his principles. He ate one chocolate and left the rest on my kitchen table.
I had another almost close encounter with my Valentine’s Day Do when I dated a charming, musician who also happened to be well-to-do, which had me anticipating a semi-lavish Valentine’s Day. I knew he was not a big spender, but I was ready, nonetheless, for a semi-grand evening because he was aware of my rather sad Valentine’s Day history and had indicated that he was about to rain on this drought! However, following a really disastrous New Year’s Eve – dare I admit that I have never had THE NEW YEAR’S EVE EXPERIENCE? -- I broke off the relationship. Still on speaking terms, however, he indicated several times that he had been prepared to go all out on Valentine’s Day to make up for New Year’s. Although I recognized the carrot dangling in my face and almost succumbed, in the end I was alone in my apartment on Valentine’s Day trying to salvage this miserable moment by congratulating myself on standing my ground. The relationship was just not a fit for me and I had exited it when I had strength to get out. Going back was not an option and even having a Valentine was not enough incentive to get me to continue in this mismatched entanglement. Happily, we remain friends today!
There have been those bittersweet Valentine's Days. One year I was walking down 34th Street near Macy's on a crowded noontime sidewalk when a street vendor selling Valentine cards stopped me. "Hey Miss," he said, "Anybody your Valentine today? You look like you need a Valentine. Here," he said, handing me one of those flashy numbers that play music. I appreciated his sweet gesture, but I was also appalled. “My God, I must really look pathetic,” I thought, faking a smile that I kept plastered on my face the rest of the day.
Remembering that vendor's kindness, for several years thereafter I bought a package of Valentine's cards - the kind children exchange at school - and secretly gave them to people to whose faces I thought they would bring a smile. They did. For several years, someone sent me an anonymous Valentine card - the kind children give to each other. I never attempted to uncover the sender, all I know is that card made me feel good. To whomever, I thank you for your thoughtfulness -- and love.
So it's Valentine's month and I've matured now. Having discovered self-love, inner peace and all that stuff, I'm seasoned enough to handle what may or may not transpire on the 14th. I’m feeling lucky this year! However, if you're not having your Valentine's Day Do this February, I invite you to be my Valentine.
