Thursday, 7 February 2013
Theme Thursday: Go to hell, Hallmark
Let's get this out of the way: I am not a fan of Valentine's Day for several reasons, some of which I've posted about here (warning: lots of swearing and bitter in that post...but if you hate V Day, you'll probably enjoy it). Besides the rampant commercialism/materialism disguised as a fluffy teddy bear made in Korea that says "Be Mine" with a side of cheap chocolate in a heart-shaped box, and the whole pressure for couples to make grand gestures of love that include over-priced flowers and a meal that you could get any other day of the year for half the price, I suppose the biggest thing is V-Day has always made me feel inadequate.
I'm not a romantic person and never have been. While I fully appreciate nice gestures like someone cooking me dinner or telling me I love you/you look fantastic today/you made me laugh so hard I peed myself a little, I'm too practical to appreciate shit like rose petals scattered artfully on the bed. Because rolling around a bed with flowers stuck in my butt crack does not appeal to me. Also,who's going to have to clean that shit up after? Me, that's who. And coming home to a house full of lit candles would make me panic about fire hazards and convince me the evening will inevitably end with my hair going up like a torch. Fortunately my ex husband was as unromantic as me, so V-Day would pass fairly quietly without a shit-ton of Hallmark-induced guilt.
However, when my son started school, V-Day inadequacy reared it's red-foil-wrapped,heart-shaped head once again. Not only is your kid supposed to bring V-Day cards for all his little classmates (and curse the teachers who don't send home a class list so you have to spend 3 hours trying to get a 6 year old to remember everyone's name) but the Uber- Moms would up the ante with homemade cards origamied into cupids, personalized chocolate hearts with each child name written on it in icing calligraphy and a platter of assorted home-baked goods that would have put Martha Stewart to shame. Which would leave me and my Walmart-purchased Star Wars cards and cookies hastily bought at the grocery store on the way to school (still in the plastic container) feeling like a parenting equivalent of the red-headed stepchild. I bet any parent reading this knows EXACTLY what I'm talking about. Except for the Uber-Moms. Who will laugh with pity and go back to helping their kid build a working model of the International Space Station made entirely out of gingerbread.
Because my son is now 13 and at the age where he and his friends express their feelings by mocking each other (and the girls they like) endlessly and the occasional headlock, of it is with a reasonable amount of relief that this V Day will pass mostly unnoticed. Until the 15th, when all the chocolate goes on clearance and I can stock up