You're Single This Valentine's Day, And Nobody Is Going To Let You Forget It

The problem is not Valentine’s Day. It never really was. Any reasonably sane person, single or taken, can recognize that the very idea of Valentine’s Day is a prefabricated crock of shit. Yes, it’s very nice to spend quality time with your beloved, and there’s nothing wrong with having a reminder to do that. But to make it some sort of cultural “holiday,” some weird dictated celebration of love-sweet-love is silly. But you already know that; nothing new there. No, it’s the media assumption that those without a significant other on this Day Of All Days are simply devastated.

The greatest fault of Valentine’s Day is how it’s marketed — or anti-marketed — to the singletons, the Lonely Hearts Club members are so unfortunate as to be without a significant other. But what’s unbearable is not being single on V-Day — because honestly, who the hell cares? — it’s the presumption that it completely destroys you to be alone. Harrowingly, terribly alone. The hot tears are searing your lonely flesh right now. It’s so cold in here.

Oh, hey. There, there. It’s okay. Fuck Valentine’s Day, right? That, single ladies, is how you will get through this trying evening! Proactive aggression! Sure, ignoring the whole thing might be a safe strategy, but why do that when you can be painfully aware of the forced romance you won’t be experiencing tonight? You care, whether you think you do or not! Because Valentine’s Day matters so much, and you can’t be a part of it, so we better actively acknowledge how horribly left out you are! Best to remain utterly conscious of that fact. Chew on it for a second — probably tastes chalky, like the candy hearts you won’t be receiving.

So how to deal? Maybe add some spark to your wallowing with some sort of ridiculously contrived Anti-Valentine’s activity. Hit up some cheesy Love Stinks Party and find strength in miserable numbers, or grab the girls head on over to Sushi Samba for their special Singlestini! After you kick back a few, head on home, heat up a Betty Crocker Warm Delights, and let The Notebook take you away.

But whatever you do, don’t forget that you’re alone. Not that the media would let you anyhow.