Ah, the controversial day of ‘lurve’ doth approach. A topic socially tip-toed around by us singletons and YELLED ALL OVER FACEBOOK by all the ‘lovers’ out there. FY(effing)I, we ‘independents’ (I have taken the liberty of rewording the concept for the sake of mine and my fellow singletons’ dignity) do not wish to see images of your jealousy-evoking fluffy, flowery and glittery gifts courtesy of ‘the love of your life’ taunting us from the comfort of your Facebook profile high-horses...
Or do we?
Valentine’s Day seems to be the Marmite of most women; loved by the loved and unwanted by the...ahem...’independent’. Why is it that the latter of the bunch cannot merely tolerate the day? Although, as with many holidays these days, that mere 24 hours of celebration (or indeed, endurance for some) comes conjoined with the unavoidable month-long countdown that we are all forced to choke on like an accidentally swallowed piece of gum- (the fear-provoking feeling from which, might I add, is magnified greatly for us ‘independents’ who, in this particular circumstance, will often find ourselves completely alone and therefore more likely to choke to death-yippee!). Perhaps upon deeper analysis of this annual ‘situation’ we find ourselves in, it is the ability to completely loathe Valentine’s (and all its sickening merriment along with it) that enables us to survive the period with our anti-love shields unscathed; therefore our apparent distain and morbid bitterness is merely a coping mechanism.
In all honesty, I am actually pro-love. We all are. Of course I walk passed loved-up couples and hiss at them like a rabid goose, but don’t we all?! They deserve it for being so much braver than us! They wear their hearts on their proverbial sleeves and we merely use ours to wipe our noses on when we find ourselves tissue-less on a cold day- (don’t scrunch up your face like that, of course you’ve done it!). I am an absolute, both self-professed and self-loathing, lover of cheese; and though I am partial to the occasional mature cheddar or Nandos halloumi, I of course mean ‘cheese’ in the soppy romance sense. On Valentine’s Day this year, or ‘Single Awareness Day’ as it should be more appropriately named, I will undoubtedly be conforming to the Bridget Jones stereotype and inhaling chocolate by the pint whilst sipping the contents of an entire winery through a penis straw in a frail attempt to make light of the pathetic situation.
However, as the day comes to a close, amidst a drunken sugar-rush the clock will turn back to 00:00 and I, along with billions of my fellow independents across the globe, will experience an epiphany; Valentines Schmalentines! There’s a reason ‘Cupid’ rhymes with ‘stupid’ folks.
Selfish, needy, moany bitch seeks equally selfish, sweaty, unfaithful narcissist with an unattractively hairy bum for regular explosive arguments...
...sound familiar? Love aint always pretty folks.
So on the big ‘V’ Day this year, I will be drinking wine all day and throwing things at happy people, whilst rubbing at all my freckles and moles to make sure they’re not just melted chocolate.
But then comes the 15th of February and I will remember that I get to have wild, emotionless, feel-good sex with random chiselled strangers at my will and I’ll feel so much better (even with the inevitable hangover) so I guess the grass is green on both sides after all...
