Cupid Stole My Wallet: I Hate V-Day

When it comes to the mysterious heart-shaped holiday known as Valentine’s Day, there are two kinds of people in this world: those that love it (read: women in relationships) and those that hate it (read: everyone else). I associate with the latter.

It’s not because I’m single this V-Day and will spend it alone in my basement listening to Michael Bolton ballads — crying quietly to myself — and watching a Julia Roberts marathon with my Maltese while eating enough chocolate to choke Count Chocula (like last year).

No, being single on this unhappiest of holidays is actually a blessing in disguise for those of us forced by corporate America to shell out big bucks to prove to our “special lady” just how extra-special she is.

Why? Well, let me explain what this chocolate-covered holiday means to a man in a relationship — from real-life, prior experience. Prepare to be wooed.

First of all, financially I’m still reeling from the holiday spend-a-thon that is Christma-Hannu-Kwanza, and to be honest, all of my ideas for thoughtful, breathtaking gifts have already been used. I’m a little depressed because football season has just ended and I don’t even realize it’s cheesy card day until it’s too late. (When I see the receptionist at work get flowers from her new boyfriend, I realize what day it is — and panic ensues…)

I leave work early to get you a card with some sappy sentiment, like a picture of a kitten pawing a paper heart that reads: “You’re my Puuurrrr-fect Valentine!” (shudder)

Then I grab some chocolate in hopes that you’ll be too busy eating chocolate-covered cherries to yell at me because I’m taking you to TGI Friday’s instead of having reservations at that French place you love — that I can’t pronounce.

The roses I bring are the bottom of the barrel. Literally. They were the last bunch. I come to pick you up and have already spent over $100 on wilted flowers, overpriced chocolate, a teddy bear that says, “I wuv you,” plus, the obligatory Hallmark “I (heart) you” card.

You pretend to be surprised by exceptionally generic gifts — and I feel your disappointment. Unless, of course, we’re still in high school, then red roses, candy and teddy bears are great gifts! You can also wear my letterman jacket if it gets cold!

TGI Friday’s, here we come…

It’s a two-hour wait when we get there; we sit uncomfortably and look at the floor. According to most industry insiders, this is one of the two busiest days of the year for restaurants. So we wait. Three hours and a maxed-out Visa later, we arrive back home.

You had one too many glasses of wine at dinner and now, well, you’ve passed out face down on the bed. I try to wake you for a little holiday romance, but it’s too late for that. I take your shoes off and think to myself, “I can still catch the late edition of SportsCenter — score!”

Thank St. Valentine this day’s over.

That’s what it’s like for both parties involved — second-rate seduction that leaves everyone disappointed. Ask any man and he’ll tell you, Valentine’s Day is a scam.

For example, please explain Cupid to me. Who thinks giving an infant a bow and arrow is a good idea? Archery is fun, yes, but I would think it should be reserved for the potty-trained. And how exactly is it representative of romance? I can’t think of anything more impractical than a baby in a dirty diaper with a primitive weapon. What kind of example does this give the youth of America? It’s a wonder no one’s been hurt yet.

But love can be dangerous, so maybe that’s the connection. More dangerous than a baby with a bow? I don’t know, but I’d rather leave that question to be pondered hypothetically by future scholars.

I’m not slamming love — it’s great when it’s good. I am, however, against the way it’s been bastardized by corporate America to make men crazy and women jealous and depressed, like there’s this standard of love that can be measured in material gifts given.

Don’t tell me how to love. It comes in many forms and shows up in the most unpredictable places. Expecting to focus your love into one “perfect day” is absurd and asinine. Try showering your partner in love, affection and attention the rest of the year, and ignore this corporate concoction created to sell heart-shaped chocolate, flowers and corny cards.

This year, I’ll be celebrating my singleness, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll be spending a loveless holiday in my basement with Bolton and a box of chocolates. No, the love I’ll be celebrating will be the love I have for a well-aged scotch, a rare steak and a few good friends.

And if you see a chubby cherub running around with archery equipment, watch your wallet. Cupid stole my cash, don’t let it happen to you.

Shawn McKee graduated from the University of Oklahoma with a BA in Journalism and has written for The Broward and Miami New Times. He loves cheese fries, cheap beer and classy women — he is very romantic.