VD postmortem

I loathe Valentine’s Day. Whether I’m smitten or not, it always sucks. The last one I can even recall was the final one spent with my dead ex-boyfriend, Lou. We’d been living together for years, but he had become a bit distant in the weeks prior to the Worst Holiday of All Time. I chalked it up to stress. (Ha! Stress, thy name is Shelly!) Lou was resistant to holidays in general. “I don’t like to be told when to buy gifts,” he’d huff whenever I’d hint about Christmas or upcoming birthdays. (Translation: “I’m a cheap bastard.”) The enforced hearts, flowers, and declarations of love that are part and parcel of Valentine’s Day were a particular “issue” for him. (Translation: “I’m also a cold bastard.”)

On this particular Feb One Four we were getting ready to go to dinner, merely for sustenance as I had to promise we were not celebrating this crass commercial holiday—yawn. As we were walking out the door, Lou looked over and sneered, “Why are you wearing that.” I felt like the ugliest girl on the planet, and just to prove I was, he dumped me a couple days later. I’m guessing he waited an extra 72 hours because some remnant of a heart lurked deep within his furry chest and he didn’t want me to forever equate V-Day with emotional evisceration. Didn’t work.

Since that fateful day, I’ve always managed to be single whenever February 14 rolled around, including this year. My most recent ex volunteered to take me out to dinner, but then quickly reneged when he realized it fell on the same night as Star Trek: Voyager. “It’s the last season,” he whined. I’d always fancied myself more important than a bunch of Klingons. Guess I fancied wrong. Grrrrrr.

Though I’m well aware that Valentine’s Day is a wretched holiday specifically designed to make single people feel like big losers, the worst part is that it works. Even if you happen to be in a relationship, the Big Day never lives up to the hype. I did have one very sweet (but excruciatingly dim-witted) boyfriend who actually went out and bought me presents one year. I got a box of Godiva chocolates (predictable but delicious), but then he had to go fuck it up by pairing it with a miniature white teddy bear. Stuffed animals are second only to adults who speak in baby talk as the No. 1 Judy McGuire Ass-Chapper. So I’m afraid I was a little less than kind in my thank-yous. Looking back, at least he tried (in his own ham-handed way) to do something nice. Perhaps I should’ve kept that small but cuddly made-from-polyester mammal as a symbol of his love instead of dismissively tossing it in the trash. How tragic that that tacky little bear from 12 years ago is the last Valentine’s gift I ever got!

Well, this year there won’t be a minute of moping. By the time you read this, I will have had the most spectacular, validating single person’s Valentine’s ever. I will spring out of bed fresh as a daisy and then quickly do some yoga in my living room. I’ll skim through my book of daily affirmations—I am a good, loveable human! (Thanks, Oprah!) Then it’s off to work. But first I’ll stop and buy myself a dozen roses just to show me how much I love me. Maybe I’ll treat myself to a low-fat muffin and a smoothie too! Yummy!

My workday will speed by, and then I’ll stroll home, gazing in cafe windows at all the happy couples paying exorbitant prix fixe prices just to celebrate their coupledom. I’ll feel a little superior, secure in the fact that I am an independent woman who doesn’t depend on anyone else for her happiness. Perhaps I’ll stop at the gym in order to tone the temple that is my bod. Then again, I may just go straight home, crawl into some comfy PJs, curl up with a good novel, grab a cup of cocoa, and call it a night.

Aaah, who am I kidding? Come February 14, I’ll lurch awake, secure in the fact that I am, as usual, alone in my bed. I’ll drag my surly ass to the office—skipping the shower because who cares, it’s not like anybody gets close enough to smell me. My workday will drag on for centuries until it’s time to crawl back to my lonely cave of misery. Maybe I’ll rent some porno. I’ll definitely buy some wine. By 9pm I’ll be loaded. By 9:30 I’ll be sobbing over old journal entries. And 10pm will probably find me on the phone with old boyfriends, imploring them to tell me what went wrong. With any luck, I’ll be asleep by 11. As you are reading this, I’ll still be hung over.


How traumatic was your V-Day? Write dategirl@seattleweekly.com or Dategirl, c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western, Ste 300, Seattle, WA 98104.

Bonus: Read more of Dategirl Judy McGuire’s Valentine’s Day thoughts in an ABCNews.com article.