February 13th is not a day that many people think of. If it were on a Friday, then perhaps attention would be focused on it being Friday the 13th, but that’s about it. It is, my friends, the inevitable calm before the storm; the storm that is Valentine’s Day.
Valentine’s Day is absurd. I’m not the biggest fan of this holiday, but don’t get me wrong- I’m not your average sourpuss about it either. Sure, I’ve been single for approximately 95% of the Valentine’s Days in my life, and for a holiday focused on being coupled up, you’d think I would be bitter about being single on this holiday. Maybe it’s because I try not to focus on that major deficiency, but that’s frankly not why I’m so against the holiday of love.
Simply put, Valentine’s Day is pointless. I ask the same question every year: why do we need a certain one day out of the year to celebrate love? Maybe I just have the mind of a free-loving Hippie, but why must we be told when to celebrate something so natural? A day mandated to shove love in everyone’s faces? It just doesn’t seem necessary.
Granted, if it’s about a day to sell discounted chocolates and candies and applaud the lovely, hard work of artists and graphic designers, then I’ll endorse the occasion. But the reason for said celebration is over-the-top, campy, and pointless. I suppose I should be thankful for a way to boost sales in our depleted economy, but I just think there could be a better holiday to do it with.
So here, on February 13th, I am enjoying the calm before the love-storm. Sure, hearts are displayed everywhere you look, but I’d like to think they are just nice decorations and not something put up specifically for one certain day. February 13th is a like a haven of anticipation leading up to nothingness. The hypocrisy is glorious.