Valentine's Day holds a special place in my heart. Not because of the sentimental attachment to the day, but because everyone since grade school has used the opportunity to make an awful pun on my last name.
Today will likely be no different, but I'll be annoyed for a different reason. My girlfriend's trip to Europe and subsequent absence this Valentine's Day has left me wondering how I'll fill my evening on this most romantic of days.
I could draw a picture of her and place it across the table in some swanky candlelit restaurant, but I'm not sure how good the conversation would be. I'm also not sure I could finish her entrAce before it got cold, though I try even when she's here in person.
I could get a dozen roses and put them in a nice vase, but I tend to dislike watching plants slowly die. Going to a movie is out of the question because for some reason people look at you weird when you put your arm around an invisible person in a theater. The looks get even weirder when you start making out. It's totally unfair, I know.
Even though I very much wish she was here to help me avoid these awkward situations, I refuse to spend my day moping around about it. This got me thinking about whether Valentine's Day had to be specifically about a significant other.
I demand to see the holiday bylaws that deem this a romance-only day. They're probably locked in a vault somewhere at the Hallmark Headquarters in Kansas City (I Googled it). Also, if you're in there, can you tell me what Boxing Day means?
I suspect, though, the traditional notion of Valentine's Day is a bastardization of the original intent. With this newfound outlook, I resolve to use this Valentine's Day as a chance to reflect on the other fantastic things I love in my life.
For example, I love my roommate for eating the ends of my loaves of bread so I don't feel bad for throwing them away.
I love the way my feet feel against the sheets when I take my socks off before bed.
I love walking a mile in sub-freezing weather so I can drink Beast from a keg.
I love Facebook for being the first thing I do when I wake up.
I love my mom for saying ""Hi. It's Mom"" every single time she calls.
I loved my iPod before it broke (and my heart along with it).
I love Michael from Top Chef for being the every man's chef. Especially the episode where he is over budget and instead of putting his beer back, decides to change his dish to avoid being dry for the evening.
I love doing nothing on weekend afternoons but sit in my robe watching college basketball.
I love that I even have a robe.
But most of all, I love this country for having the sense of humor to elect George W. Bush—twice.
Thankfully, none of these loves require shiny, wearable rocks, a box of chocolate or John Mayer tickets. They don't even require bad poetry.
Today, instead of feeling like that lonely, speckled banana in my pantry, I'm going to go out and enjoy myself. I'll be the one in the robe.
