As I spend another Valentine’s Day alone and feeling sorry for myself, I have to wonder what I ever did to Mr. Hallmark to make him make me hate him so much. Did I ever shove red candy hearts down his throat until he was burping up “u r cool” in Red No.5? Was I the one who threw him in front of a crotch-grabbing couple at the mall? Would I read sappy messages over his voice mail about diamonds, referring to them as my “best friend” or blathering about “our life together forever?” No. So, Mr. Hallmark, please don’t pull this crap with me.
Although it’s obvious to all my friends, co-workers and immediate and extended family, I would never blatantly refer to myself as a “hater.” But alas, every time February 14 rolls around, I become that bitter, crotchety old woman I so despise. You know the one. She sits alone in dark restaurant booths sipping tea for hours, leaving hot-pink lipstick stains on the mug and growling at the wait staff. I will wager a guess, however, that I am not alone in my mistrust and general disliking of Mr. Hallmark and his evil conspiracy to make the world a more loving place. I believe that, hidden amongst the jewelry-clad and grinning people of this town, there are others like me who would like to tear up the town in a raging Anti-Valentine’s Day party.
Let’s first take a moment of silence to thank all the hostile, sardonic people of America who contributed to inventing any of the following embittered slogans for Valentine’s Day, such as Happy VD! (Venereal Disease!), the ever popular, “Love Stinks,” and, my favorite new website, Heartless Bitches International. If not for these sad, weary folks, people like me would have to suck it up alone on the day of dread.
In preparation for the big day, I have decided to buy a few T-shirts that fully exemplify my hatred for Mr. Hallmark and his heart full of love. So far, I am torn between “Cupid is Stupid,” “Back Off Loser,” and “Love Stinks and So Do You.” I’m not sure which anti-come-on would be the most anti-guy catching for my annual Anti-Valentine’s Day party.
Didn’t I mention it before? I will be hosting another one of my Anti-Valentine’s Day parties this year, which I have held ever since I have been single on Valentine’s Day (an amount of time that will not be disclosed to the public). Usually, the party involves me, chocolate truffles (bought by me, of course), Pretty in Pink, cheese pizza and the obligatory black sweatsuit. If you are interested in attending, you’ll have to get my attention because this party is invite-only. Last year, I received a letter that was handcrafted almost entirely out of Anti-VD candy hearts reading: “Valentine’s Day can BITE ME. To all those happy couples out there, I say U SUCK. LOVE IS FOR LOSERS. Can I come to your party? MY BOYFRIEND WON’T BE COMING. HE IS BUSY ROTTING IN HELL.” Okay, I don’t think she got that last part off a candy heart. The point is, you’ve got to be creative.
During the party, there are a few ground rules. There will be no mention of wonderful exes who “just didn’t work out” or that co-worker you’ve got a crush on. The only flowers accepted will be dyed black, and anyone wearing an inch or more of pink or red down to the undergarments (closet Valentine’s Day enthusiasts not welcome) will be turned down at the door. Each person will receive a free Anti-Valentine’s Day tote bag and an evening full of anti-love. Hurry up and save your spot!
In the end, I will probably forget about Valentine’s Day just as I have almost every year since high school. Now that I am no longer surrounded by pink and red streamers, balloons and banners about the school dance each February, I often forget that I’m supposed to hate love in the first place. Especially when that guy I always see at Monoprix looks at me with his lonely blue eyes as if to say, “Be Mine!” But, never fear, Mr. Hallmark, not even for my crush will I be engaging in any type of singing telegram-secret admirer behavior. Nor will I be crunching on those Pepto-Bismol-flavored candy hearts at my work desk. And you can forget about me buying some sappy card, even for my mother, with anything related to “loving you on this special day.” You can take those roses dyed in 28 different colors not even remotely found in nature and give them to some other poor sap. I’d rather be alone than lose my dignity. Besides, love is for losers! Now, somebody pass me some chocolate.