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Did you
acquire a beautiful fabric-padded card this morning, pull it from its
ribbon-decked box and get amusement in the image of a cheery teddy bear cuddling
a red heart?
 Was
there a particular red rose lying on your crisp white linen cushion, morning dew
dripping from a great petal?
Perhaps
your lover welcomed you with a bowl of new strawberries and an icy glass of pink Champagne
earlier than leading you from the bed room to the bathroom for a seductive, hot,
bubble bath for two.
Or
perhaps, like the rest of us, you gazed bleary-eyed at the watch radio, have the
sense of hearing Cheesy FM playing Chris de Burgh's the woman in Red ("This one
goes out to Tracey in Blox wich. Darren says he's apologetic for hitting you ")
and consideration: "Oh, Christ, it's Valentine's Day."
It makes
your heart be submerged, just the thinking of it, all that obligatory
cutesy-cutesy behavior, people thinking they have got to purchase their wife/
husband/ boyfriend/ girlfriend/ lover/same-sex legally recognized civil
associate SOMETHING for the reason that if they don't they will look
contemptible, uncaring and, the nastiest offense of all, unromantic.
There is
a place for Valentine's Day and it is in the playing field, for school kids. The
disturbance of the day is a very important education for life, instruction
youngster’s precious lessons about the playfulness of obsession, the meanness of
betrayal, the pain of mockery and the cost of a box of newsagents' chocolates.
It should be an obligatory prerequisite of the national program of study.
Why
people persevere with a slavish devotion to the traditions of this appalling day
beyond the sixth-form is mysterious, mainly among wedded couples and long-term
partners. Certainly they already recognize they love each other, or at least put
up with each other, without having to go all the way through all the rigmarole
of buying a naff card and a bunch of forecourt carnations.
I recall
being astonished when I was told Valentine's Day was the full demanding day of
the year at eating places. Having worked on news papers for a number of years I
have seen abundance of press releases and promotions for oh-so loving candle-lit
Champagne dinners (with balancing coffee and Match maker chocolates).
On the
other hand, I didn't realize people in fact went to these places.
It sounds
like torment, attempting to eat one's confute de canard with raspberry jus
encircled by love-crazed assailant. All that feeding each other, sagging
asparagus across the feast table, positioning the slick spike into a partner's
gaping jaws and surveillance the butter trickle down their chin. Such
insensitive exhibitionism makes my stomach shake.
Then
there are the pairs who send flora to each other at work, just to make confident
all their co-workers identify how really, like crazy, extremely they love and
are loved.
In my
knowledge, romance does not be conventional to a calendar date, less still does
it have need of you to dig into your pouch and jump on the customer treadmill in
a public show of adoration.
So I
would not be popping down to Harvey Nicks and buying a pot of "Love Potion,"
which, supposedly, is "designed to have aphrodisiac individuality with a strong
mixture of blueberries, passion fruit and herbal components for example moiré
puma, damiana and passion flower." Muira puama?
If your sex life
actually is that frantic you'd be improved off taking a cocktail of Vimto and
Viagra - and trying sucking the helium out of the "I LOVE YOU" balloons that has
just inwards at the workplace by messenger service.
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