One of my friends on facebook re-termed Valentine’s Day as “Single Awareness Day”. You know I was tickled. Clever. He wasn’t the only one who voiced some malcontent with lover’s day. Many of my single friends (especially girlfriends) dread the day because “everybody has a man but me!” Ok, first of all, chill out. You sound like a teenager. (Everybody has that new Coolio c.d. but me! Sound familiar? And now you hope nobody remembers you saying it, don’t you?) You can’t possibly think every single woman in the world has a boo thang but you. You can’t possibly think that because I don’t have a boo thang . . . so, yeah, stop that.
But I understand the angst. It’s lover’s day. People are posting mushy pictures and comments on facebook, Hallmark commercials are so sweet they dang near make you cry, and Wal-Mart looks like love came in and exploded. The day can be a little intimidating if you don’t have a love interest or if your love isn’t interested. It’s like if you can’t enjoy Valentine’s Day with a significant other, you have to hate Valentine’s Day.
But really, how silly is that? You realize that you were single last month and you were cool with it, right? You’ll probably be single next month too (I’m just saying), and you’ll have to be cool with it then. The single person has to find some contentment with his/her status on the biggest, fatest, pink-and-redest, flaunt-your-happiness-in-other-people’s-faces Day – originally known as Valentine’s Day. Of course there are some men and women who could care less to be joined at the hip with another (Welcome, you single, happy person. You can read my other posts), but there are some people who are hurt to their core because “at last” hasn’t come (shout out to the great, Etta James).
Alright boo, so this isn’t your year. Yeah, many of your friends are going out on dates and getting flowers at work and picking out sexy ensembles for after-dinner-events (wink, wink). So be happy for her/him. Be happy because next year (or in 2020) when it’s your turn, you’ll be breaking your fingers trying to text/tweet/post/comment about your romantic V-Day rendezvous with “at last” (wit his ugly butt, but I won’t tell you that). You’ll be so wrapped up in your “at last” you’ll forget how long you had to wait on Mr. Ug face (my pet name for him).
Now, while we’re all waiting on “at last” (my “at last” is going to be fine as wine, by the way) lets go have a drink. I’ll order something red, you order the pink one, and we’ll laugh at the people wondering if we’re lesbians. If only.