Eh, I have never been big on Valentine’s Day. Yes, I am a hopeless romantic, and yes, I manage to carry this off while simultaneously being the world’s biggest cynic. It’s one of my more delightful qualities. I believe the term would be complex. Aren’t you all jealous of Mike, who gets to be married to such a delightfully complex woman?
So Valentine’s Day. I spent the majority of my V-Days single because I could never scrape together enough cash to pay someone to date me. Very aware of my unique ability to repel the opposite sex and yet helpless to do anything about it, I did the next best thing; I instituted S.A.D., or, Singles Awareness Day. Yes, I know, a very proactive approach. You better believe I’m not just going to sit around and let other people be all happy and in love around me, nope, I’m going to participate in a non-holiday so I don’t feel left out.
S.A.D. for me was actually not a bad holiday. See, its components consisted of:
- Eating a lot of chocolate and/or ice cream
- Hanging out with your girlfriends
- Watching a romantic movie to reinforce the knowledge that yes, one day, John Cusack will stand in front of your bedroom window holding a boom box. Until then, you get to keep all your fabulousness to yourself, and not have to share the remote. Watch ESPN on TV? Not unless you want to (which let’s face it, I don’t ever want to).
- Use a lot of sarcasm in everyday conversation. When discussing love, only do so layered in ironic tones.
- Reading a romance novel, strictly for visualization purposes. Naturally, a tall, handsome gazillionaire will fall in love with me for my pluck and quick wit, and overlook my mousey brown hair and “fluffy” hips. He will then proceed to buy me a Porsche and take me to the theater. Visualize it: realize it.
All of these options are flexible, depending on how in-the-spirit you get, and may be added to if necessary. For example, after I reached legal drinking age, S.A.D. would include a bottle of champagne with my girlfriends (or just me. It’s all about flexibility). I generally got more in the spirit the lonelier I was, and truly, it was a great way to forget about my general undesirability with the menfolk and focus more on my bad-ass qualities, such as my great capacity for sarcasm.
Now that I’m married, I sort of miss S.A.D. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Mike more than Patrick Swayze (“It’s amazing, Molly. The love inside, you take it with you.” How can you be human and NOT CRY at the end of that movie?). But I was single for most of my life, and I got kind of attached to the annual celebration of being an anti-establishment misfit. It was a celebration of me. Now, I don’t have an occasion to celebrate my self-indulgence. No, my birthday doesn’t count. That is a completely different holiday.
And yes, it’s a holiday.
So single gals, do me a favor. Pop in a movie where Johnny won’t put Baby in a corner or Colin Firth dives into a pond at Pemberley (or likes Ms. Jones, just as she is). Crack open a bottle of Cliquot and unwrap the foil on those Dove hearts you know you’ve stashed away in your emergency chocolate drawer. Toast yourself and your fabulousness. Celebrate you – and the fact that you have the remote all to yourself.
Single guys? You can celebrate S.A.D., too – only I recommend not doing it in front of your more macho friends. That way, you can cry over P.S. I Love You unmolested by beer swilling dudes who are out of touch with their feelings.
Who knows? That Porsche fantasy may yet be in your future. And that is something to celebrate.
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