Smell that? That’s the smell of a million men breaking into a flop sweat over Valentine’s Day.
The origins of Valentine’s Day have nothing to do with chocolate covered diamonds or edible socks. The Orthodox Research Institute describes St. Valentine as “a priest (who lived) near Rome in about the year 270 A.D, a time when the church was enduring great persecution. His ministry was to help Christians escape persecution and to provide them the sacraments, such as marriage, which was outlawed by the Roman Empire at that time.”
According to History.com, St. Valentine was eventually imprisoned by the Romans and sentenced to death. Before his execution, he supposedly wrote a farewell note to a girl he’d healed and signed it “from your Valentine.”
Now how did we go from this to the buy 10 wings/get 10 wings free Valentine’s Day special at Hooter’s? Nothing screams tribute to a wrongly murdered holy man like a bunch of guys eating fried chicken parts delivered to them by buxom ladies who wouldn’t be seen on the same planet with them if tips weren’t part of the equation.
I haven’t always been a Valentine’s Scrooge. In kindergarten, I had two girlfriends at once, and they both knew about it. It was a groovy scene, man.
The other boys thought it was strange that I’d want to spend recess trying to play “McMillan & Wife” with Girlfriend 1 and Girlfriend 2 instead of kicking a stupid ball around.
I gave both of the girl’s Valentine’s cards, but it all went south when we started first grade. The other boys eventually realized kicking a half-inflated gym ball left over from the Reconstruction Era wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as having a girlfriend. Not being the competitive type, I had no interest in jumping through hoops to win anyone’s affection, thus beginning The Great Drought of 1980-89.
While in high school, some friends helped me construct a Valentine’s Day road sign for The Girlfriend (who is now The Wife). The sign did not include any syrupy teenage sentiment and I didn’t cover it with lyrics from a Night Ranger power ballad. The sign simply said “Happy Valentine’s Day” with her name written under it. We attached the sign to a tobacco stick and placed it alongside the road on her route home from school.
It wasn’t as grand a gesture as standing outside her window in the rain with a boombox blaring a Peter Gabriel song, but it got the point across.
The sign now rests in a cardboard tube in the Dawson Family Archives next to my Monsanto belt buckle, the suit James Brown wore on the Ed Sullivan Show and Michael Jackson’s original nose.
When The Wife and I were dating, we were both usually working on Valentine’s Day. I was a table maintenance specialist at a steak house, which meant on Valentine’s Day, it was all hands on deck. The tips were fantastic on Valentine’s Day because these putzoid men would leave big money in an attempt to show off in front of their dates.
The Wife was an in-demand baby sitter so she usually had a gig on Valentine’s Day, as well. You may think this is unromantic, but we thought of it as a way to make the system work for us. The candy tastes just as good on Feb. 15 and its 50 percent cheaper, so take that, Whitman’s.
As for the now, wasn’t everyone supposed to be tightening their belts? Aside from necessities such as food, clothing, shelter and smartphones that can perform mammograms, who has the disposable income for a big Valentine’s Day woopty-doo? The National Retail Federation recently reported Americans will be spending nearly a billion dollars on Valentine’s cards alone, not to mention $1.9 billion on flowers and $4.1 billion on jewelry.
Has this multi-year recession we’ve been going through just been something Pamela Ewing dreamed?
I’m not against sending flowers; I’m just against the social pressure to do so. If I get my wife a flower, I tend to pick a random day when it’s not expected. Notice I said “a flower,” not a “bushel of flowers.” A single flower conveys the same sentiment as a barrel of them; everything need not be super-sized.
Just so the florists in our readership don’t bust a vein, I’m not anti-flower. I just believe instead of spending $70 on flowers one day per year, why not spread that $70 out over the course of a year?
Surprise your sweetie with a flower on the anniversary of the pencil sharpener — just to keep her off guard. Send her a nice assortment of tulips on June 10 for no reason at all. You think L.L. Cool J’s wife waits till Feb. 14 to send him a Chapstick bouquet? The man is going to lick himself to death.
If you want to join in with the rest of the lemmings (but just enough to get by), here’s what you do: Stop at the gas station on your way home from work and buy a Snicker’s bar the size of a small dog. Once home, place the candy bar in your freezer.
Later that night, light a few candles and carve the Snicker’s up with a fork and steak knife. Dial up something romantic on the stereo like Marvin Gaye or Boxcar Willie and make a night of it. Candlelight, fine dining and romantic music.
If that doesn’t work, pretend there’s a crisis at work and sleep on your desk. It’s nearly as comfortable as the couch and it’ll save you some time the next morning.
Jon Dawson’s columns appear every Tuesday and Thursday in The Free Press. Contact Jon at 252-559-1092 or jon.dawson@kinston.com. Purchase music, books and beepers at jondawson.com.