My Funky Valentimes

I really don't have any true feelings of malice towards the creator of this holiday (and I use that term loosely, Hallmark). However, I find it mildly amusing and somewhat irritating that people spend millions of dollars on absolute rubbish. Running to the train this a.m., I spied a table full of cellophane-wrapped plush bears, each with his tiny poorly sewn paws clutching desperately at a faux rose. They looked uncomfortable in their clear tombs, and their collective expression was not unlike that of the man who fails to plan an evening out for his beloved. Gents: For the future, note that anxiety ridden bears make great gifts.

As a single gal about town, I could find comfort in watching badgered looking men walk arm in arm with their scantily clad, well shod mates du jour. The women tend to carry an expression of forced happiness, flashing the pearlies, or they appear spoiled and petulant. It is not an endearing scene and certainly not one that makes me long for another.

When I recall times past when I was involved in some sort of quasi-relationship, my focus leaned towards the absurd. One year I made my one true love a card out of various clippings from nature magazines. I taped a picture of his head on top of a mountain range and quoted the chorus from that detestable John Mayer hit. Another year, I created a heartwarming funeral wreath out of fake black roses. In return, he would go to the nearby bodega and find the naffest card imaginable, or make a gift of a bag of dried cuttlefish. The heart warms just thinking about it.