Valentine's Day

The date hadn’t even dawned on me until I entered reception after lunch to find the benches overrun with floral arrangements. The delivery driver was obtaining a signature from Beth.

What fresh hell is this? Oh, of course.

Valentine’s Day.

Beth sounded despondent when she announced there was nothing for either of us, so I assured her I wasn’t expecting anything; I didn’t have a valentine. Typically, at that stage, I would have launched into a tirade about how this so-called special day makes people more unhappy than happy; how it makes single people feel invisible; how it puts pressure on those in relationships by assigning a dollar value to love and making romance mandatory, so even if your partner was the type to do something loving and spontaneous it can’t be genuinely spontaneous because it’s expected.

This time last year, I was thirty-three years old and working in London and at the pointy end of my doctorate. While not exactly single at the time, I wasn’t in one of those affairs where we exchanged saccharine gifts with each other. I was so preoccupied with my work and my research I somehow forgot what date it was until I wandered into a Tesco to buy dog food. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, I unwittingly came face to face with a young man carrying a white fluffy teddy bear holding a red satin heart that had been speared by, presumably, Cupid’s bow. Then I saw the Valentine’s Day exhibit in its entire gaudy glory over the young man’s shoulder: pink heart-shaped balloons, more teddy bears, boxes of mass-produced chocolates, bottles of cheap rosé, identical bunches of flowers, and racks of gift cards bursting with the expected sentimental messages. Honestly, at that precise moment, I wasn’t sure what was worse — the fact that this young man was buying the Tesco bear for his loved one or the fact that nobody was buying one for me.

Now I’m thirty-four and officially single, I work in Sydney, and I can tick the Dr option when I’m filling out forms. I’m still preoccupied with work and, once again, I forgot it was Valentine’s Day until it confronted me so unapologetically in the form of gifts destined for someone else.

But I’m done with ranting.

Let the people have their expected surprises, heart-shaped balloons, chocolates, cheap rosé, flowers and cards. I don’t begrudge them their teddy bears with speared hearts, but I’ve decided if anyone gives me one, I’ll rip its fucking head off.