First, I propose that we officially change the holiday to “Valentimes Day” since that’s what I hear most little kids call it, and it’s a cooler, more logical name to boot:
“What time is it?”
But whatever you call it, if you’re married it’s pretty stupid. I love my wife in all the right mushy gushy oingy boingy ways, and don’t mind having a day set aside to remind me that it’s meet, right and salutary to actually demonstrate this on a periodic basis, but the obligatory nature of the demonstration and the pressure to meet the universal standards to which all companionable men are held on this brightest red of days, really takes a lot of the jolly out of it.
I mean it’s not like you have the option to blow it off: you have to live up to your obligation and be cheerful, attentive and sincere about it; but instead of the time, thought, effort and money buying you points on the Big Board, squeals of delight and maybe some extra special attention, you are lucky if you just pull up to the break-even line, meet expectations, and don’t disappoint anyone – such disappointments do not fade quickly or rest lightly.
I am certain that if I could take the time and money to REALLY do something special involving, say, hot air balloons, scandalous lingerie, secret bowers, and sleeping until lunch, I would enjoy the process a lot more and see it as obligation a lot less; but for the time being, with little kids and work and life and shit, the options are limited to size and variety of bouquet, mushiness of card, and heartfeltness of presentation.
A slight consolation is that I am not alone. In one recent survey, 91% of married men said V-Day was their least favorite holiday due to the expectations of topping what they did the previous year, and 94% said that any money spent on Valentine’s is wasted.
Not that I go that far or really mind or anything – I love my wife and think she’s all hot and stuff.