Apparently It's Valentine's Day

364 days a year you have to smile gamely and be gracious about other people and their relationships. You sit there and listen to them go on and on about this vacation they took together and how romantic it was or some present one of them bought for the other and how thoughtful it was, and what can you say - nothing - so you say nothing.

Then round about mid-January every store is suddenly awash in red and pink. Initially it's a relief from the drabness of the Canadian January to have all those hot colours around. Looking closer, you see there are cards and candies and ads filled with people who are too pretty to be real snuggling or snogging or just plain smiling at each other. You know they're models, and they're being paid to look at each other that way to sell those cards and candies, but it doesn't matter; by then the damage is done.

For four weeks a year you die a little bit each day, because you know you're not included. The only thing that makes it worse is knowing you'll never be included. The only thing that makes it bearable is waiting for that day, February 15th, when finally everyone has had enough.

The best I can hope for on Valentine's Day is to try and remember the good times I've had with the few emotionally stunted men I seem to have collected over the years, and to try and forget that my last such memory is now half a decade old and not getting any younger. I've resisted my more evil urges, so I won't be posting divorce or domestic violence statistics here, nor will I be posting this lulu of a photograph I downloaded showing the effects of gonorrhea on human genitalia. Apparently I have to be a good sport about this torture. Just how I'm to do this no one is quite certain; the only thing to do is remember that I'm ugly and a loser and I always will be and that everyone who's in a relationship agrees 100% with this assessment.

You see, there isn't someone out there for everyone, and if there is it's a big world full of people, and what are the chances you'll find them? Or that when you do find them they'll be your type and you'll be theirs? Maybe for some people the miracle occurs, and they manage to meet someone despite your agenda and theirs, your friends and theirs, and a thousand other things that keep people apart getting in the way.

Only then you get to spend the next 364 days of the year hearing about it. Or else you get to hear about all the cheaters, and the mean mis-treaters out there, and wonder how a nice guy like you manages to stay on the shelf when some guys get all the action. I guess it's because, in addition to not being a violent alcoholic I am not hot either. I guess anyone who cares about heart over hot is already with someone.

Love, ha! It's a motherfucker. I just wish I could stop believing in it all year long like I almost do every Valentine's Day.
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