Valentine's Day--A Smorgasbord of Suck

Valentine's Day.

I've never had a good Valentine's Day. Maybe it all began back in second grade when Colleen McPherson gave Valentines to everyone in the class except me (oh sure, she said she just forgot, but Michael McCabe got one). Maybe it started in high school when I caught Colleen cheating on me with Michael McCabe. Or maybe it's because nobody is really sure which St. Valentine it is we are suppposed to be venerating by the consumption of untold quantities of chocolate covered cherries and chalky hearts. I'm not sure, but suffice it to say that every Valentine's Day has been a festival of disappointment that nearly always ends with me spending time with Philip Morris and Jameson.

There was the time my girlfriend demanded that I buy her a three hundred dollar diamond necklace and a lavish dinner complete with limo service. She dumped me the next day, and I spent the next six months paying off the wasted effort.
There was the cute girl with the cowboy hat with whom I actually clicked, but then she left me for another guy on Valentine's Day. Apparently dip and Wranglers were more to her liking than chianti a conversation about Vivaldi.
And who could forget last year? My date claimed, over veal and pinot noir, to be a mafia princess.

But the all time worst would have to be when I was detained by the FBI in the middle of dinner because my date was wanted in three states on arson charges. Though a close second would be the one who threatened to drown herself in the koi pond of a very nice sushi restaurant because her ex-boyfriend happened to be there with a girl whom she thought was more attractive.

I can definitely pick 'em. My friends say that I have a learning disorder when it comes to women: I never learn my lesson. Perhaps that's why I've never had a good Valentine's Day...they've all been a bit daft. Ryan Star's "Psycho Suicidal Girl," definitely describes my dating life.

Even when I don't have a date for Valentine's Day, I always seem to get drawn into the vortex of someone else's problems. I've had to pick up lady friends who were dumped mid-dinner. I've played designated driver for three very promiscuous couples. I've even had to complete arrange a friend's Valentine's Day plan, only for this friend to blame me when his girl was not interested in him.

A festival of disappointment.

The day seems rather ridiculous to me. The collective stress level of all mankind sky rockets for weeks while we try to plan the perfect Valentine's Day....which of course must be more perfect than last year's Valentine's Day. It seems like a ridiculous waste of energy just to show that you love someone. Shouldn't that person already know that he or she is loved? Do the heart-shaped chocolates, romantic dinners, and elaborate plans figure into some arcane equation that makes one's love for another more real than it is on any other day? It is a mystery that is beyond my ken, and thankfully so because merely trying to understand it would likely deposit me into yet another Valentine's Day disaster.

So for those of you out there with plans--and even those without plans--enjoy your Valentine's Day. I'll be in a corner booth at O'Bannon's keeping my head low and hoping that I don't get pulled into anything catastrophic this year.

Cheers,
Lockhart

Columnist's note: I'm only writing this article because the editor, Johnny "Valentine's Day da Vinci" Masters, is forcing me to do so. He was too busy finalizing his famously extravagant plans for his girl, McKenzie, and Socks refused to write the piece because it didn't involve differential equations or zombies.