I don’t get too het up about Valentine’s Day one way or the other. I mean, am I gooey about spending the night with my gentleman companion? No, we spend most nights together. But when I was single, did I lash out about the day? No, because I lived through the worst possible Valentine’s Day disasters and it left me apathetic.
Consider… being dumped at 12:15am Valentine’s Day morning, in public. Or having dinner with a friend who spends the evening explaining to the wait staff that we’re a couple of friends, not a couple! Or seeing all six hours of Mourning Becomes Electra. Or sitting alone in a bar and being told that I should be a happier person. Or being dragged to a bar by a gentleman because his friend is there, being sad and single. Or hearing “I love you” for the first time and promptly vomiting.
So I’m sorry if I’m not too terribly excited to flex my wit on Valentine’s Day. I used it when I needed it, and now I shall just sit quietly. Unlike that year I got drunk on a jug of cheap white wine and screamed approval during an acoustic set and then pretended I was a cat.