Halloween consumes the entire month of October. Christmas gets its own season and a collection of recycled songs. Daylight saving time is celebrated two separate times a year. So why is Valentine’s Day resigned to one day in, like, the third-worst month of the year?
Some people are probably overjoyed by the fact that Valentine’s Day only comes once a year. They probably look forward to Feb. 15, when the candy goes on clearance and the flower shops cut payroll. I am not one of those people.
I, for one, depend on an endless supply of those tiny heart-shaped pieces of chalk that say stuff like “Be Mine” and also “Be Mine.” Chocolate covered strawberries are my favorite food group. And nothing is as exciting as biting into chocolate from a heart-shaped box, not knowing if it’ll taste like caramel or soap, because that’s all they really fill those chocolates with, caramel or soap. If I was anymore pro-Valentine’s Day, I’d be dating it.
I think, more than anything, Valentine’s Day proves every year there are two types of people in this world. There are people who like Valentine’s Day, and there are select single people. And I’m not saying that every single person dislikes Valentine’s Day, but it’s like the whole rectangle and square situation. Every square’s a rectangle but not every rectangle is overly upset about being single in the middle of February, or something like that.
Look, everyone knows that Valentine’s Day is at least maybe halfway invented by consumerism, probably pushed every year by Hershey’s and Jared and Russell Stover and a hundred other companies named after old white guys. But pointing that out doesn’t make you interesting, and it sure doesn’t get you dinner reservations for Friday.
Valentine’s Day is like Thanksgiving without politics. It’s like New Year’s Eve, except cooler, because you don’t have to start going to the gym the next morning. It’s like daylight saving time except it’s a real holiday. So maybe just embrace it?