Oh the Dreaded V-Day

I’m an idiot.

On one of our first dates, something came up about Valentine’s Day, and I told NRA I hated the pseudo-holiday. I told him I’d always loathed it and probably went on a small tangent about the worthless damned celebration. And when he asked what I’d prefer be done to recognize the day, I said, “Nothing.” And he said, “Just ignore it?!?” And I said, “Yeah.” This sparked a response from him along the lines of, “You’re the most awesome girl ever. Seriously. You’re awesome.”

Did I think at that moment that NRA might still be around several months later to actually put my short-sighted Valentine’s Day request into practice? No. I obviously never think ahead when doing so could be even remotely beneficial to me.

So now the big, stupid freakin’ sorry-excuse-for-a-holiday is right around the corner. And, you know what? I, of course, want something out of the whole stupid freakin’ outlandish candy and greeting card company-created holiday. I want a (small) hoopla made and an exchange of gifts and/or a romantic night out (or in) and some long, tender love-makin’ (or a close approximation thereof), by damn.

The reasons for this desire are pretty obvious to me. In the 24 years preceding 2007, there was not one passing of the 14th of February that involved me being technically involved with another living soul. I’ve never had the sappy, makes-you-want-to-puke-it’s-so-sickly-sweet Valentine’s Day experience. I haven’t even had a cheap knock-off version or a bad carbon copy of the overly-hyped experience.

Heretofore, my preferred method of passing Valentine’s Day involved consuming as much whiskey as possible and discreetly throwing conversation hearts at the backs of happy couples’ heads. But now, like I said, I want to be part of one of those icky couples flaunting their happiness in everyone else’s faces. Or I want, at the very least, to be able to pretend I’m making up one-half of such a monstrosity.

Alas, I opened my mouth and inserted my foot months ago and am only now getting a taste of that previously-chewed gum and sidewalk grime combination that was stuck on the bottom of my shoe at the time.

I was going to hold off on the V-Day ranting until I had a good reason, but I think I might just have one now. During my visit to the Southern Homestead this weekend, The Grams asked what NRA was getting HER for V-Day (The Grams lives for presents… even if they are from strangers). I jokingly relayed her request for flowers or candy to NRA last night, who responded with a literal guffaw and, “I’m not even getting you anything for Valentine’s Day.”

Ouch.