Thunderball

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Thunderball

I tend to be a contrarian by my nature, maybe it was growing up in a relatively small town. I wanted to stand out, be noticed. That’s why I spell my name with an “I” instead of the “y” I was born with. I wanted to be different. I do like group dances, the wobble, the electric slide, the Cupid shuffle, but only because I feel like I’m really good at them (please don’t tell me if Im not, I’m too old to learn a new skill, or handle the rejection).
So it’s this time of year when I feel compelled to announce publicly, that I do not like valentines day. I also don’t think this puts me in the minority anymore, but in second grade, it was social suicide. Come on! Everybody gets a Transformer card or a My Little Pony card with a Lollipop taped to it. And every, single one from Jimmy says “Love, Jimmy”. I’ll bet you a million dollars that there are at least two dozen people in this class that Jimmy doesn’t even know by their full name. Amelia Cathline Trowell? Who’s that, oh you mean, Amy? It’s spelled AMI, jerk. Yet we all had to open our dumb shoe box and ahhh over the fact that Jimmy wrote down all the names from his list, provided by the teacher, and stuffed them dutifully in the provided envelope, or worse, stuck the provided sticker on the flap to close it, or worse yet no folding, just a wide open card with “Love, Jimmy” scrawled on each and every one. Well, I don’t like the kind of love you’re trying to sell “Jimmy”. Leave me off your list, I can live without your contrived version of love, I’m good all by myself without the same card that every boy and girl got in the class. And that lollipop is nothing but sugar and red dye.
So congratulations valentines day, you are the emotional equivalent of a modern day elementary school awards ceremony. Everybody gets a token of “love”, but it means nothing because we all got one, it’s obligatory. It’s a participation trophy. And I blame you, second grade valentines day party for setting up my expectations that there would also be a decorated paper plate full of love notes on every future February 14th, and red cupcakes. But there are no cupcakes, no paper plate mailbox full of love notes. Jimmy is almost certainly trapped in a loveless marriage, with a girl he met in second grade. Or worse yet sending out numerous “love, Jimmy” texts after he drunkedly grinds on strangers at a bar on Saturday night. You’re too old for this club Jimmy. Go home!
I’m mostly kidding of course. But valentines is a weird adult holiday to me. Either you’re in a relationship and you feel some compulsion to do SOMETHING, buy something, send something, eat out in a crowded restaurant, make a mix tape. (Which I know wouldn’t even be a tape). Or you’re not in a relationship and you’re trapped into thinking all those people with dates, got it made. And here you sit alone, probably the only person in the world without a date on this extra miserable Saturday, cause even if you did venture out with a group of platonic friends you’d be bombarded with bouquets of roses for other people and impossible to get dinner reservations. It must be how Jewish people feel on Christmas.
But it’s our cross to bare, because we can’t seem to organize a boycott big enough to prove to Hallmark that no one needs this reminder about sharing love or missing love. We understand that no one over the age of 9 thinks that they are getting a Mylar balloon with hearts on it for any other reason than the mall has dedicated a kiosk to cheap Chinese, future land fill in order to drag a few more dollars out of your lover’s pocket.
For those of you who adore Valentines day and to the six 9 year olds who read my blog, I’m sorry. I’m sure I sound like a bitter old spinster and maybe with good reason. It’s easier to be cynical than to get on board with a holiday that historically has made me skeptical of shows of love. And maybe it uncovers the scars on my heart. Yes Jimmy, I was secretly hoping I was the only one getting a card from you. I was a little devastated to see all the cards said, “love, jimmy” ’cause yours was the only card that said, ” Love, Ami”.

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One response »

  1. I have a friend who always referred to it as “Singles Awareness Day”. Then she got married. Sigh.

    Valentine’s Day is generally pretty depressing, although this year I am not approaching it with the same dread I did in the pas (tuntil this year). Maybe it’s a sign that I have accepted my solitariness and appreciate the friends I have without beating myself up over not having a “valentine”.

    Or I could just be too busy to care anymore.

    Meh. Whatever.

    Like

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