HTNDA: Valentine’s Day Edition
Only slightly more epic than Whitney Houston inadvertently offing herself is the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day, which, depending on your outlook on life, can either be the happiest day of the year, or the shittiest day of the year next to Grandparent’s day, because, like, what the fuck is that all about?
For me, V-Day has always flown ever so slightly under my radar. Most of my celebration centers around El Tortuga and the sugar-laden gifts of misfortune he and his classmates share with each other. I spent half the night making out Valentines for his classmates. El Tortuga colored on his hand with a permanent marker during this process, so there’s that.
Valentine’s Day, like most holidays, has lost its luster. It comes. It goes. It costs money. If I’m participating, I’m stressed out – what do I wear? What should I get? Can I get away with not shaving my legs?
If I’m not participating, it becomes about El Tortuga. Such is not the case for most women.
I’m not in a relationship right now, something that bothers more people than it bothers me. In my defense, I work a lot and then I come home and I take care of a four year old who cannot be convinced that he’s anything other than Batman right now.
Additionally, I’m trying to get the new house (The Shitteau) ready so I can move in. There are two toilets sitting right in the middle of El Tortuga’s room at present, so that’s made me a little nervous.
As soon as I move in, I need to fix up my old house (The Ghetteau) and try to sell it.
Plus there’s a bunch of other shit going on.
Anywho – I’m not in a relationship. Being unattached is fine by me, but not fine, however, by an intense subset of women who have decided that singledom on a day like this should define their self-worth and should set the tone for how much they get to bitch.
Single women on Valentine’s Day are like feral cats. Unkempt and filthy, they wander through society with an air about them that says, “Don’t fucking touch me unless you plan on staying forever.”
Why? I’ve always had a hard time understanding this, but I’ve also always been in a relationship of some sort on Valentine’s Day. This being my first “single” V-Day, I think I might have a lead on cracking this mystery. It came in the form of a text.
Casual Married Girl Friend: Happy Valentine’s Day!! (Sent at 6 am.)
Me: (Not knowing if this was a mass text or not,) You too! Hope it’s a good one!
CMGF: (Immediately): Thanks! Spending the evening with the hubby! Are you going to be okay tonight? Since you’re (DUN DUN DUN) ALONE.
I replied with a polite “Yep” and then I sat in bemused silence for a while. I’m new at this shit, but I don’t recall any mention that I might feel suicidal on this day. Is that what’s supposed to happen? If so, you heard it here first, folks: I failed Valentine’s Day.
When I really got down to thinking about it, though, I realized that it’s not the being alone part that probably bugs people, It’s the harassment about being alone, and it doesn’t just happen on Valentine’s Day. My married and long-term-relationship friends live to set me up. Sookie, sweetest woman in the world, is the worst. We’ll make plans for dinner, and then moments before we’re supposed to meet, I’ll get a text informing me that she’s bringing a guy for me to meet. Nice. Glad I wore my nice hoodie.
She means the absolute best and wants to see me happy. That’s much different than, “You’re alone and I sent the police to check on your welfare.”
Beyond that, women are mean to each other. This isn’t any sort of revelation. Overreacting to something Sally McSlutty said just makes you as obnoxious as she looks. Calm down. Take a couple deep breaths. Jumping on Facebook to talk about how you “fucking hate Valentine’s Day, because men are evil pigs and blah blah accidental anal sex, yada yada cheating, boo hoo douchebag,” probably won’t get any guy’s attention other than the ones who, like predators in the wild, seek out the weakest link and move in for the kill.
You know what happens when you get worked up about being single? You go on shitty dates. You know what happens when you go on a shitty date? You get drunk. You know what happens when you get drunk on a shitty date? You wake up the next morning in an assholes bed, naked save for an old, torn Spiderman sheet that you somehow fashioned into a diaper, and your hand is tangled up in this monster’s ass hair. It’s like reverse Coyote Ugly, and it’s not gonna make anyone feel any better.
Quit crying, ladies. Go home and wax your upper lip. Today is just a day – it’s not a big deal. Plus, as my mom would have pointed out, the real VD is Venereal Disease, and you sure as hell don’t want that.