So it’s finally here; that special day of lovers. And given it’s such a commercially big day; no-one can ignore it. You can’t pretend you forgot; unless you’ve spent the winter hibernating under a tree. Red shit everywhere…in every garage and supermarket; admittedly you’ll barely notice a difference as Christmas has just slid off the shelves and soon they’ll turn yellow for Easter. The never-ending calendar of poignant dates to celebrate; to show someone their worth, to make a fuss thus ‘buying-in-to’ the global market of celebratory dates. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Day of the Dead, Today Day, Tomorrow Day, ‘C.U.Next Tuesday’ Day. So it goes on; we could lump them all into ‘I’m being ‘guilted’ into pointlessly spending all my money’ day? But I digress; today is all about those significant others. ‘Couples’, ‘married’s’, ‘co-habitors’, ‘hetero’s’, ‘homo’s’, ‘making it up as I go alonger’s’ each seizing the opportunity to, kind of, publically declare their love to their mate on this auspicious day of exclusivity. Unless of course you’ve handed out a few…then you’re probably a chancer or a twat.
Then there are us ‘soloists’ who have woken today with no expectations of anything other than a Tuesday. There are no demands placed upon us today, nobody will require anything of us in part-payment later and we’re no poorer than we were yesterday. Today is just another day; in my case I must draw upon all of my grit and determination to get the kids to school, go to work and come home. To deal with all that tea-time and night-time thrusts upon the main carer of children, then perchance draw a breath before going to bed early; just in case there are yet more dead of night shenanigan’s like last night’s ‘piddle party’. So today is a good day for me. No disappointment over a cheap card; the glitter of which manages to ‘cag’ my work tights and scratch my cornea as I ‘fake’ cry over the child-like scrawl of ‘be mine, my funny, funny valentine’. The correct interpretation of this message is; continue to do everything for me and legitimise me with your intelligent presence and revered social standing. No horror at being presented with a bunch of yellow carnations which you know clearly points to a potential affair and at the very least an utter cheapskate, thus kissing goodbye to the detached house with the garage and master bedroom with the en-suite.
Yes there’ll be the ‘smugsters’ who’ll gush and flutter around a £30 quid bouquet delivered to work. And those who’ll upload pictures of their love ‘spoils’ and use the eternally ‘twatty’ line of ‘boy done good’. Some will take a more basic and self-effacing line and buy themselves that coat they wanted from the Boden new collection then withdraw the money from their joint account. Then there’s me, who’ll write a little blog by day then come Valentine’s night will slip into bed with a cup of tea and a Crème Egg , why? Because I fully understand the meaning of ‘true love’.