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"You don't have to swim faster than the shark, just faster than the guy next to you." - Anonymous
Saturday, February 04, 2006
St Valentine’s Day - What a massacre!
It’s not that I’m unromantic; I can say “I love you too darling” through clenched teeth and a cheesy grin as well as the next man, but for the life of me I can’t get to emotional grips with all the paraphernalia which surrounds Valentine’s Day. I swear if receive one more Valentine’s card depicting a mischievous-looking cherub wielding a bow, arrow and alarmingly small fig leaf covering his nether regions, I will send it straight back to my mother with a very curt note and a request for a copy of my birth certificate.
Why do we do it? I ask myself. Why do we conform to the mores thrust upon us by florists and chocolate manufacturers? Does anyone really like heart-shaped confectionery containing strawberry fondant and wrapped in pink foil? If they do why do they not buy it at times in the year other than February 14th?
What would poor St. Valentine think, I wonder, if he were to witness what strange and unusual customs are invoked in his name these days? Just to recap, he was a 3rd century Christian martyr, renowned for having absolutely no sense of humour and legendary for his dislike of anything sweet. His association with the romantic events of February 14th is, in fact, nothing more than a historical accident, one for which the saint himself may well have expressed a pious disapproval.
As for the cards themselves.. . well, I can’t think of anything more guaranteed to annoy the crap out of the individual than receiving one that is signed - anonymous. It’ll probably say something like, “Be My Valentine Tonight” or “Let me Tie you up with Silken Cords and play Beethoven to you until dawn,” and then be blank where the details of the person to whom you should make application for the above services should be.
There is the possibility, of course, that anonymity could be depriving the recipient of the opportunity to embark on a relationship, which could have led to happiness and ultimate fulfillment. Imagine actually being admired by somebody, and never finding out who it is. The frustration would be excruciating - I expect.
But what could be more irritating than a Valentine’s Day dinner in which every course adheres to the theme of pink kitsch, from the molded cranberry terrine pierced haphazardly with toothpicks masquerading as arrows, to the heart shaped chocolates waiting impatiently to explode with synthetic fruit flavouring? Here’s your answer – nothing.
Interestingly enough, as tradition would also have it, Valentine’s Day in a leap year provides women with a series of potentially lucrative opportunities. Did you know that this is the one day in each four-year period on which a woman may ask the man to marry her? Ok, it’s a bit old fashioned as women have been asking men to marry them for years, with varying degrees of success, but in the event that the man declines the offer, he is obliged, by lore, to compensate the proposer with a gift.
This used to be a diamond ring, I’m told, but in this day and age, perhaps that may be asking a bit much. A small Rolex or a lifetime’s membership to California Fitness would do me just fine. Be forewarned ladies: calling people’s bluff can be dangerous. The guy with the Vacheron Constantin and the Porsche, who looks like a bullfrog after a road accident, may actually say “yes”.
Then there’s underwear. Men like to buy lingerie for their lady friends, be they wives, girlfriends, mistresses or a combination of all three. Actually this is not strictly true. Men buy lingerie for
themselves, not for their lady friends. Most girls I know would plump for a good pair of comfortable cotton knickers, not the type of under garment which gives the wearer the impression that she is about to go in two different directions at once. But what do men know ? They go instinctively for what they imagine will look raunchy. A toweling robe, however practical, just doesn’t quite have the same allure as something frilly and red.
So we’ll all happily thread ourselves through the mangle of another Valentine’s Day, measuring our popularity by the number of cards received and the number of flowers waiting to quietly rot in stagnant water. Just remember guys, if you don’t quite measure up in the Valentine cards department, don’t worry. You can always try a little do-it-yourself, but don’t forget to type with your left hand (if you are right handed), and make sure you express just the right amount of surprise when you open your email cards in front of a gathering of your peers.
