Tuesday, February 15, 2005


I've survived another Valentine's Day.

When I was a little girl, I loved Valentine's Day. To me, it meant lots of red and pink treats wrapped perfectly in heart-covered packages, valentines from my classmates and less work at school because there was always the end-of-the day Valentine's Day party. I concentrated so hard in art class to make the perfect doily-adorned construction paper valentine for my mother and looked forward to coming home from school to present my masterpiece and receive my Valentine's Day gifts.

In middle school and high school things changed. Suddenly, the holiday wasn't about the fun stuff. No more class parties, no more valentines from just about everyone in class. It was, no doubt about it, all about popularity. Names were called over the intercom announcing who should report to the office to retrieve their flowers, balloons and various stuffed things. Girls would prance through the halls glowing with pride that their boyfriend, crush or even parents had cared enough to send the very best. That's when I began to loathe the holiday. It just wasn't fun anymore. And, yes, I got my share of Valentine's Day gifts announced over the P.A. system, but it just seemed so silly.

In college a single event that ripped my heart out and smashed it into the ground managed to seal the deal on my disdain of Feb. 14. I'd been dating a "wonderful" guy for about two years. I'd moved to South Georgia for this guy, who I was sure would someday become my husband. One evening after studying at a friend's house, I stopped by his apartment to say hello. That's when he broke the news: God had told him I wasn't the right girl for him. OK, that sucked, but get this: It was two days before Valentine's Day. We already had plans that he said he still wanted to continue with because he was such the "wonderful" guy. So, on Valentine's Day we headed to Savannah, GA, to go to the comedy club. THE COMEDY CLUB!!! Yes, I was depressed and trapped in a world filled with happy people laughing and drinking it up with their dates and I was there with my brand-new ex-boyfriend.

Today, my dislike of the holiday is just that. I think it's better left for the children - when things were so much more fun.

(That's not to say that I won't enjoy evey last piece of the box of Whitman's Samplers that Jim surprised me with yesterday. And I do love the pretty potted flowery plant he presented me with. Thanks, Jim!)