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Yesterday
it seemed as though the entire world had come unhinged and was about
to meet a universe-sized cream pie right in its kisser. Everybody
was mad, no one wanted to play nice and my very favorite shoes were
working up a blister on my great toe. Life was a shambling masquerade,
nothing more than a chaotic kind of swing from come here to sic'em.
Luckily, Valentine's Day fixed all of that. Why, just the thought
of all those smarmy hearts and flowers just about set me free. It's
terribly swell that we share our love with one another, and the
world, by purchasing little cardboard hearts and big glittery cards,
lots of candy, magnums and magnums of champagne.
There are people who spend all year lying in wait for that hapless
soul who wants to make their big move. That poor sap who just knows
that the candy, wine, flowers, balloons and gift certificates to
the spa, Vegas & that pricey eatery are going to turn the tide in
their favor! At least, they're pretty sure until the restraining
order is served.
Valentine's Day has traditionally been the scene of massive romantic
disasters around here. My husband and I even waited to get hitched
until two days afterwards to avoid that pesky dark cloud. If you
recall, Chicago has a rather grisly connection with Valentine's
Day, but that's an entirely different story.
Long ago, in the good old daze, there was a fellow who asked my
good friend on a date repeatedly but she continually turned him
down. She simply knew he wasn’t her type and that they would never,
in a million years, become a couple. Finally, all because of Valentine’s
Day, she took pity on the poor guy and accepted him, against her
better judgment. He picked her up wearing a vest, matching white
shoes and belt, accessorized with the obligatory chains and what-have-you
along with the whole side-burn thing, and, well…you get the picture.
It all went fairly well until they got to a new, trendy little Austin
café’ that specialized in quiche and crêpe’s. Understand that he
was a regular guy, not James Bond, and that these items were fairly
new to the American palette, especially on campus then. When the
waiter arrived my friend was alarmed when her date asked in a confident
and slightly faux-deep voice “Just what kind of ‘creeps’ and ‘quickies’
do you have? Aside from a furtive glance at the odd little dishwasher
the waiter had no reply. I’m telling you, Valentine’s Day is cursed,
and this little incident goes a long way toward proving it.
It's quite
possible I'm jaded to the point of no return, but the marketing
departments that put these 'feel-good' guilt-tripping fiesta's on
the calendar seem just a bit over the top. Mother's Day, Father's
Day, BFF Day (I had to ask a kid what the heck that was. I thought
it was short for Big Fat Freak) they just go on and on. Don't get
me wrong, I love my Mom, and most everyone else's Mom's as well,
but I strive to tell her I love her all year and want her to know
I mean it every time, not just on that one day. She doesn't want
a ton of candy, a big fuss or more junque to dust. We get together
on Mother's Day and various other Days and just kind of hang out
and laugh a lot. We have wine and flowers on Bastille Day, if we
want to and eat candy on Monday. The same goes for my husband and
I on Valentine's although we do get one another silly cards and
little things for fun but it's because we want to and enjoy the
exchange of sentiments reminding us how grateful we are for our
healthy and happy relationship. Plus it's a good excuse to dress
funny & go to the dance in the park. But it wears me down listening
to the endless ads admonishing me if I don't buy him a flat screen
TV or a Land Rover. For that matter, if he came home with a diamond
I'd wonder what heinous thing he was covering for. We'd rather load
up and drive 500 miles west to see the stars, which we do fairly
regularly. Especially since the streetlights have practically stolen
the Milky Way around these parts.
So, what is the upshot to all this malcontented ranting and raving
you ask? In our house it involves hearts, sure enough. HeartBURN....Plop,
plop, fizz, fizz is usually the last love song around here on Valentine's
Day.
Copyright Gael Montana
'The View from Under the Bus'
February
3 , 2008 Column
More on Love and
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