Pretty (Stupid) in Pink

I hate pink.

I hate pink and all the other stupid pastels that help to define what I figure to be Hallmark’s biggest farce of a lovers’ holiday.

Now before you go all ape-shit on me, please understand I am a HUGE fan of love of all kinds.  Epic, sweeping, love-is-a-many-splendored-thing love.  Byronic love.  Happy ending love.  Unrequited love.  Platonic love.  Spiritual love.  Unconditional love.  Hey, you name it, I love it.

And it fills my soul up when I read about the joys one has within the context of their loving relationships.  My sister has a fabulous blog where she rightly applauded and reveled the beauty of her relationship with my brother-in-law. http://castletothekeys.blogspot.com/2011/02/mystery-date.html?spref=fb 

32+ years together = truly one of those epic sorts of relationships that start, middle and end happily, with our protagonists riding off in the sunset on a really cool white horse.  Or driving off in a white clown car.  (They don’t have a horse; they have one of those boxy looking cars where you expect that once the door opens 57 clowns will keep spilling out.)  Anyway, love rocks, no matter how you define it, and it’s fun as hell to read about my sister’s devotion, particularly after so many years of putting forth the effort to make her marriage work.

Here’s the thing though.  It isn’t love that I don’t love.  It’s Valentine’s Day. 

Maybe it’s because I was dropped on my head too many times as a child.  I mean, I can kind of remember sort of liking the making of Valentines for the other kids in my grade school classes.  But something got skewed along the way.

Maybe it was because I never really had a serious boyfriend until the end of my junior year of high school, so I didn’t get the hearts and flowers thing.  Then that senior year, I spent the holiday morning sitting on my mother’s bed, weeping, while I told her I was knocked up.  And knocked around.  Yeah, not feeling the holiday.

Eventually, I met a guy whose love for me did not equal crazy, possessive, battering psycho although we had a rather scary (albeit necessary) turning point in our marriage that began on a Valentine’s Day a few years back.  All’s well now, and while he does buy me lovey-dovey gifts, it is never on that day, which is a-okay with me.

Truth is I’ve never bought the whole special day for hearts and flowers thing.  In fact, in my opinion the day itself needs a new title in order to maintain its integrity.

New title, you say? 

Ah yes, folks.  Let’s call a candy heart, by its authentic, sugary-sweet name.

From henceforth the day shall be referred to as: Buy Your Mate Candy, Flowers, and Dinner so You Can Be Sure to Get Laid Day. 

(Oversharing note:  I personally like starting everyday all shiny and glowy, so I don’t really need a special gift day to make that magic happen, but I get that not every woman likes to wake up with both the sun and the moons a-shining.  I suppose special holidays are a requirement for that reason.  I mean, birthdays only come once a year, which for straight women typically means offering up the yearly BB anyway.  Once a year would probably make for some spiking divorce rates…ergo, the occasional helpful holiday makes for happier people.  Make love not war, right?)

Don’t get me wrong.  Not everything is off with the holiday.  Flowers are always a good idea.  Make an effort to ask her friends what her favorites are. Makes it seem like more of a surprise than if you have to ask her. 

Chocolate?  Most women aren’t going to turn that down.  Just be sure not to bring too little or too much.  Too little will make her think you’re a cheap bastard; too much will have her cursing you when she steps on the scale next week.  Balance.  It’s delicate, but necessary. 

Oh, and be sure that dinner is at her favorite place, too, in order to secure the keys to the promised-land.

There are, however, some additional changes required of said holiday in question.  In addition to the title, I’m changing the colors of the day, too. 

Pastels?  Really?  Come on, ladies!  Even good boys like dirty girls.  Even when they say they don’t; especially when they say they don’t.  I mean, look at how prolific the porn industry is.

Case in point:  Dress an Angelina Jolie-type in froofy pastels and she’s gonna get some serious looks, sure.  Dress her in a leopard-print, gartered bustier (panties optional), fishnet stockings, and a pair of black, thigh-high, leather, stiletto boots whose soles have never touched the floor, and some poor sucker’s gonna pop a vein.  Or go blind.  (‘Cause we all know that to get the Angelina Jolie-type, you gotta be the Brad Pitt-type.)  But you don’t have to be Angie to pull the look off and make the payback for all his effort worth his while.  Remember, if he's going to the effort, he's already hot for you.

The point is this:  everything’s better with animal print.  SO, I vote the official “colors” of the new February 14, BYMCFaDstYCBStGL holiday are leopard, tiger, and zebra.  (Show of hands in favor, please?)  Oh, all forms of red are good, too.  (Red peep-toe stilettos rock.)  And leather, naturally.  Or rather, pleather.  (There’s no excuse for a lack of eco-consciousness.)  Certainly classic black always sells.

I don’t know.  I keep coming back to the real point here.  You shouldn’t need a special day to do romantic (whatever that looks like for you) things for your honey.  Your grass will stay lush and green on your own side of the fence if you just water and fertilize regularly.

Say no to Hallmark today, but yes, next week.  Or the week after that.  Or next month.  Or get creative and make your own cards.  Or do something else fun that shows to your sweetie that s/he matters.

And I suppose if pastels work for you, wear ‘em.  Just don’t wait till February 14 to bust out the dirty-girl goods that normally get crammed into the back of your lingerie drawer ‘cause they only see light but once a year.

As for me?  Being married to an Aries boy has its own privileges.  The emperor’s new naughties seem to work just fine, thanks…

PS.  Happy BYMCFaDstYCBStGL Day everyone!  Oh, and special Happy Anniversary to Pat and Patty.  (Your love story is one of my few votes in favor of St. Val's...seriously.)