Valentine’s Day – The Pursuit of Booty

*This article is not for little kids. All you teenagers I’ve FB friended from church stop reading HERE!

I don’t want to be a cynic, I promise you I don’t…but Valentine’s Day SUCKS.

I used to be one of those people who would balk at other cynics who decried Valentine’s Day as “just a paper” holiday or a “made up Hallmark” holiday. I would launch into a monologue about St. Valentine and how the whole celebration of love began. I would emphatically go on about the 5 different types of love – with their Greek translations ( agapi, erotas and so forth) – and that it was important that we take time about to celebrate and recognize LOVE!

Strangely, since I’ve been married, I see Valentine’s Day for the farce that it truly is. Or at least what it has become in modern times.

As usual, advertising has ruined a good thing, and nowhere is this more evident than in Pajagrams ‘Hoodie Footie’ ads that have been flooding the airwaves for the last 4-6 weeks. What makes the ads so aggravating is not only the product themselves, but their choice of one particular spokesperson – the dreaded Sean Hannity. (He’s an ultra-douche opinion head on Fox News, for those who do not know him. I’m a conservative, but he takes it to a WHOLE ‘nother level.) The last thing I want on my mind while I’m supposed to be snuggling with my own husband is an image of Hannity nuzzled up with his wife, wrapped in the same pajamas I’m (assumedly) wearing, his obnoxious lips gabbing on about Obamacare and socialism, prophesying doom and gloom and a failed economy. Shut up and eat a strawberry, Sean.

Sale FAIL!

Then there’s all the PAPER that’s wasted on Valentines day! Every year, a small rain forest is decimated so little pre-schoolers can cut out crooked hearts and slather glitter on some ill constructed art “project”. Do you still have the sticky, misshaped Valentine card that your child created last year? No, you don’t. Don’t even try to lie.

And then – worst of all – there is the obligatory distribution of booty. Your man runs out to get you flowers, lingerie, candy, chocolates (and perhaps the aforementioned dreaded hoodie footies), all because what? He loves you? No! It’s because:

1)      He assumes you’ll get pissed if you do not have these tokens of “love” in your possession, as expected and

2)      He is hoping for some reward at the end of the night

John Mayer, strumming his little guitar once crooned “Your Body is a Wonderland” to the female object of his amour. I am the anti-thesis of that stamen. For weeks, my body can go on and on as a sexual Wasteland. It’s where attempts at love-making go to DIE. There is nothing that would aggravate me more than the expectation that I am supposed to reciprocate this manufactured gesture of “love” by parting with 10 minutes of sleep or TV time so that my mate can “part” me.  If you really want a genuine response from me surprise me with these tokens on an off day. Switch it up! Hit me up on St. Patrick’s Day. We can play Celtic games where you dress up as a leprechaun and perhaps there will be booty at the end of the rainbow.

Is my cynicism unfounded? Is Valentine’s Day still really about love, and friendship, and the like? I don’t think so. The shelves at Wal-Mart continue to prove me right year after year.