Selfish Valentines

A great man once said “The power of love is a curious thing – make a one man weep, and another man sing”. Of course, this great man also happened to be Huey Lewis of San Francisco based 1980’s rock sensation Hewy Lewis and The News, so perhaps I’ve over-exaggerated the “great man” part – but to some, I’m sure he was, and still is, a great man...maybe? Hewy highlights a notable and correct analysis of the mental affliction that is “love”.

But what is this love malarkey? And why is it but one day a year we are supposed to rejoice our currently succeeding relationships and smugly celebrate them by frivolously throwing money away on oversized cards, teddy bears, chocolates and champagne? Why is it we feel we must make our other half feel loved on this one day in particular? As I sit here listening to Phil Collins I don’t feel anymore in love today than I did yesterday...and don’t feel like I should because of the constant bombardment of adverts on the television, which suggests to me that its actually one big great illusion created by capitalism to keep restaurants, florists and card manufactures in business after the downturn post-Christmas. And if we don’t, we feel like dejected cynics, when we are actually correct for not buying into it.

The pressure that comes from this day is immense and sweetly sickening. Love should surely be celebrated each and every day (if you actually are, and not just going through the motions which many people out there are, yet hang onto their “loved one” like a dog with a bone (which is an apt metaphor) so they’re not alone), and not by proclaiming it on a piece of card, but by cooking the odd dinner, cleaning the dishes without being asked, keeping the toilet seat down, and giving the odd ear scratch...wait, I may have confused one of man’s loves with another...but you get the point. These are all essentially proclamations of love in their own right and cost nothing but consideration, care and respect.

Each year, bumbling idiots beseech the most expense inanimate objects that are discarded in the mere hours after the event that has become as big as Christmas Day on advertisers calendars. Great, we’ll buy that overpriced card that will be heartlesly disregarded on the 15^th of February, along with the sentiment. It’s such a horrible occasion it almost makes me wish I were single so I could hate it some more...

Love, it has been discovered, and heavily debated by Scientists, Scholars and Theologians alike, is merely a chemical in the brain that ensures the survival of human existence. Want proof of that? Go to your local restaurant today, look for the couple with wedding rings and wrinkles under their eyes (have a good point and laugh as they strain to make conversation), and I can almost guarantee they won’t be conversing a whole lot. Of course, they may feign what looks like the odd bit of romantic affection – a brush of hands (possibly by accident whilst reaching for that extra bread roll), a shared spoon of their dessert (begrudgingly, no doubt), but really, they’ve nothing in common anymore and are truly not in love, but had once been fooled into this belief, only to be sucked into a vortex of marriage and popping out a few children into a world that was already full, but handy to have about for spare parts. Yes, what I’m saying is ; love is most likely just an illusion that fools us human beings long enough to keep society over-populated. Well, that’s the cynical outlook on it anyway.

(If you’re single) Love isn’t that great an entity anyway. (Love. Psssh.) It actually ruins your creativity if you’re an artist. For instance, think about the best love song of all time. Got one? Yeah well, it most likely isn’t about how great love is, but how love has torn the respective artist’s heart out and been replaced with a great big turd. For instance, the likes of Roy Orbison and Sting became better artists when their love lives fell apart – and look at Russell Brand, who since becoming married, well, isn’t that funny anymore. See. Proof to the singleton that they’re possibly better off today than the rest of us!

Here’s a thought ; why not get a card for your mum, sister of best friend? You can love them too today, just not in the physical sense. Why is Valentines Day only marketed to those that share a bed? It should be open to all avenues of love surely? But no, if you’re single (“UGH, HATE TO BE YOU!!! HAHA”) you’re not invited to today’s celebrations. What a crock of shit!

See, Vaaaaaallllllentines Day is a “holiday” of exclusion, like Christmas, except without the religious rhubarb. But this time a holiday to celebrate the fact you’ve found someone who can actually put up with you (and let’s face it, we can all be horrendous irritants!) and not snuff you out in your sleep. It exacerbates the loneliness of those without a partner, like a teasing cake shop across from a Weight Watchers. Although, the one upshot to Christmas is you can feign enthusiasm in the Holiday Season even if you don’t happen to believe in God, or Christ, or whatever rhubarb it entails of, but Valentines Day, if you’re single there is no sympathy ; having the day rubbed in your face, well its hard to smile for the smug fucker telling you of their plans for their “romantic evening”.

So, I propose we have an annual day to coincide with this day of “romance”, EXCEPT, it shall be the antithesis of romance and love, but rather, regret and bitterness. The pity-party singletons can vent and seethe over their ex-lovers and down pints of lemon juice to enhance the bitterness they taste in their mouths. They too can have cards, but ones with rude imagery and horrid messages, and send them to their ex, like “You were shit in bed, and I’m glad to be rid of you – BASTARD!!!”, and send presents like torn up teddy bears and dead flowers. Instead of a romantic meal out they can still sit on their couch in their pyjamas and gorge on tubs of HaganDaz Ice Cream (plural), only this time, they can feel like they have as much of an excuse, if not right, as the smug arseholes out there smooching and looking doughy eyed...only alone...looking at old pictures...crying into melted ice cream.

Why has no commercial holiday like this been caught onto by the Commercialist fuck-wits who contrived this annual “holiday” in the first place? It’d cover all corners and make those who feel left out feel like they’re apart of another holiday – possibly a better holiday, one where they’re the only reciprocate of the nonsensical gifts, and no longer have to face the belittling bewilderment of being alone anymore.

  

Yeah, its like a great man once said ; “LOVE...it’s a curious thing…”