You can hardly expect me to pass up the opportunity to rant about February 14th. I have, after all, a fair amount to rant about - principally, of course, the fact that I have never, not once, received a Valentine. Even when, and here is the crusher, I've been dating somebody over that time. What is it about me that screams, 'I don't want flowers or chocolates! Take them away!'? Half my diet is chocolate-based, which I think should be a fair indicator that I'm up for receiving fine specimens on any occasion, and since I've given up on the possibility of a guy ever buying me flowers then I do so for myself. As much as I want to be disparaging about the occasion, and I really could go on about the padded velvet hearts and the 'cute' teddy bears that accompany them, part of me is still screaming inside Oh Sod it, I Want it Too! (Not, for the sake of clarification, the tacky presents - a mere 36 red roses, champagne truffles, and someone to whisk me away to a beautiful place would do the trick).
There was an article on the BBC website yesterday, saying that after two years the sex drive between couples dissipates. Frankly, I wouldn't know as I've never dated anyone for two years, but I do think this is a rather depressing prospect to be facing. No wonder people have affairs. You find a fantastic bunch of extremely funky emotions - and suddenly, they're snatched away from you. Harsh indeed. In other words, all you guys out there considering charging off and buying your considerably better half some miniature lacy morsel of underwear, if you've known her more than two years I'd save your cash and get her something far more suitable. A vat of Mango Body Butter, for example.
After a spot of googling to investigate the origins of Valentine's Day, I've found a pretty wonderful festival that used to go on in Ancient Rome. Juno Februata, the Roman Goddess of fever of love, of women, and marriage - hell, what a Goddess to be. Apparently, on February 14th, all the young women of the city would put their names on paper into a large urn, and all the young men would take a piece at random. The subsequent couples would then spend the night indulging in what appears to be en masse eroticism, and then spend the next year together as partners. There are obviously multiple flaws in the whole set-up, but quite a few advantages that should not be sniffed at.
Further googling suggests total confusion as to where the celebrations are derived from. I personally propose the idea that, what with the effort of celebrating Christmas and New Year, everyone was somewhat exhausted for a while after that - then winter gets into your bones, you start to think the season will drag on forever, and some men (obviously men) came up with the idea of having a particular day where they could be guaranteed a spot of between-the-sheets action, thus breaking up the tedious long months and having something to look forward to. It is as viable as the other options out there. (They created the Valentine's Day story amongst themselves, so it would wash with their womenfolk).
Only another few days to go, then it is over for another year. No more of that pre-Valentines 'will he, wont he' hell, no more feeling an utter failure as a female, no more secretly hoping while informing the world at large that really, honestly, you couldn't give a damn. Then I just have my birthday to face, which in reference to guys has somehow been even even more disastrous than Valentine's Day, if only because 14th February is to some minor degree optional and a birthday is most certainly not. A few fine examples (and I hope the perpetrators of such crimes are reading and cringeing as I remind them of their sins) -
- a birthday spent waiting for the other half to come back from the cinema in the evening, where he'd been with friends, and bear in mind I hadn't seen him all day either
- a gift received more than a fortnight late, and the birthday card was one that was left over from a Christmas card set
- someone who forgot my birthday (despite constant gentle reminders) and who tried to pretend he hadn't forgotten, eventually presenting me with a book I already had, a box of Marks n Sparks chocolates (despite there being two Thorntons in Oxford and the wonderful Chocology in the Covered Market), and a ludicrous metallic travel game (for someone notorious for Travelling Light, this was definitely among the most Useless Gifts ever received)
- oh yes, and the one who decided it was possible to completely ignore my birthday, on the basis I wasn't in the country at the time
Yes, those are four separate men managing to get it wrong on four separate occasions. Evidently, I have a genius for selecting partners who don't give a damn about me. It isn't that I want expensive presents and lavish dinners in restaurants - one of the best presents I ever received, because it made me laugh and laugh every time I looked at it, was a package containing a balloon, a marker pen, and a set of pins. I was instructed to blow up the balloon, draw the face of someone I disliked, and delight in sticking pins in them. Genius. And so Me.
My plans for Valentine's Day evening? I'm going to trawl through the travel guides and relevant websites and start scheming for my next vacation, probably some time in late June/early July. Somewhere that will be beautiful and tropical and doubtless filled with annoyingly cutesy loving couples - but it's okay. I've had a fair amount of practice now at smiling serenely and saying, 'I'm fine. Really. Just grand. Absolutely, completely, and totally fine.'
I've even started convincing myself.
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1 comment:
and after all that, i still win the misery crown this year: after all, my guy (already long-distance, which doesn't help) has managed to plan his outing to vegas with his mate so cunningly (or should i say brainlessly) that he will be absent for both valentine's and my birthday! now how loving is that.
shame on me for 'letting' him do that, but luckily, on a scale from 1-care, i'm at -5 now. hurrah.
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