We boycott Valentine’s Day, my husband and I. We really don’t have anything against the holiday, outside of the fact it was invented by Hallmark in order to sell cards (at least that’s the rumor and as a lover of all things conspiracy theory,I’m all over this one), and also, quite possibly, to make eighth grade girls feel bad.
As much as I yearned for valentines from boys when I was growing up is as much as I could care less about them now. Easy for me to say, I suppose. I’ve been married for 22 years. It’s a given my husband is my valentine, but I don’t need him to spend money to prove it.
It’s such a horrible little holiday anyway, fraught with the peril of screwing it all up or feelings of inadequacy for anyone who may not have someone special in their lives on February 14th. And frankly, who needs that? Especially because traditionally (read: if they're romantic) men are supposed to take the initiative by sending their special girl flowers or chocolates and/or taking them out to dinner. I mean, it’s a nice idea and all, but, do you happen to know any men? They forget everything. They were the boys that never, ever send valentines at school (except for that one kid that used to chase the girls on the playground and try to kiss them, but nobody wanted his valentine. Too indiscriminate. Not to mention, creepy.)
For my husband and I, Valentine’s Day shenanigans became just one more thing. With kids and careers and a household to run, who needs one more thing? Although each year, we always make sure, “You’re not expecting anything for Valentine’s Day, are you?” “You haven’t done anything special for Valentine’s Day, have you?”
“No” and “No.”
But if he screws up our anniversary, he knows he’s dead meat.