Sappy Valentine's Day

I just came in from Shopper's, where there were actually two guys at the checkout buying Valentine's cards. One was opting for the 'size matters' selection, while the other was trying not to let something sparkly rub off on his hands.

Ah, I shouldn't be such an ogre. I did my share of hounding deer-in-the-headlights lads when I was a teenager. I remember once baking a chocolate cake (!) in a heart-shaped pan for some poor guy, and piping the words 'I Love You' in florid pink script onto it. I dunno where that pan came from; my mother was the baker, not I. But I do know I never saw it again, leading me to believe she'd had enough of teenage girls declaring those kind of sentiments on baked goods.

I remember in high school they had this cruel, cruel practice of allowing people to send roses to each other, and they'd be delivered during your homeroom. Of course, we nerd girls would sit there watching Cheerleader and Easygirl be presented with their posies, and we finally figured out to start sending them to ourselves, or each other, anonymously. And you wonder why high school leaves scars.

I actually get to spend the day with my Valentine; I alternately call him Poor Sod, or Brad, or a collection of other things that aren't his real name either. He's home sick. At first, I thought he was making me intricate flowers (he's an artist in one of his incarnations), until I realized those rosettes were just tissues that had missed the garbage. Don't get all cranky - I will make him soup and pet his head and take care of him. I used to buy Marc and Jackson Valentine's stuff when they were little, probably just following my mother's practice. Nothing big, just a little reminder. They are both daily put in a headlock by me and told I love them, but it never hurts to say it again.

All this Hallmark Valentine's crapathon sucks some of the life out of the idea; it's not even based on anything real. I remember in university sitting in a lit course, studying (or trying to study) Chaucer. The prof was having the damndest time making us understand that Chaucer was a rude old bugger, and everything - everything - was based on sex. With that secret decoder ring finally on, we dove in and realized it wasn't our generation after all that had discovered sex. Once again, some guy finding a reason to get a little. If he'd been smart, he would have declared a single day a year off limits to sex, rather than a single one that came with a guarantee.

There will be no heart-shaped cakes around here today - thankfully. The harsh days of high school are done, we don't do flowers because Maggie the cat eats them and gets a sore tummy. Instead of all the usual commotion, here's a thought: If you love someone, just tell them.

Just like that. No charge.