We are on the eve of the eve of the runner-up for my favorite holiday. For many single women I talk to, Valentine's day is dreaded like none other, perhaps even more so than that thrice rescheduled trip to the gyno. Unfortunately for those women, a date on the calendar can't be postponed by simply sly-dialing a cranky receptionist. Combating this lovely pink holiday typically requires a more overt approach, usually featuring a high volume of the color black and events bearing names such as, "Cupid is Stupid"*. I don't understand these women. I wasn't always a super girly girl and I cringe to label myself as that now. It was only partway into college that pink hues, glitter, and Disney started finding their way into my closet (the psych major in me has fun picking this one apart). But somehow now I find myself embracing all things deemed "girl" and I revel in a holiday that doesn't sneer at me painting pink hearts on my nails or for baking pink layered cupcakes. It doesn't matter to me that there is no Prince Charming to notice my fingernails or partake in sweet little heart-shaped confection made especially for him. In fact, I think I prefer it. I think I'd rather be single on this day.
Perhaps it is because the only terrible Valentine's day experiences I have had have both been on behalf of a guy I was either dating or pseudo-dating. Maybe deep-down inside I have this belief that when you try and mix a glorious day of pink, sweet smelling things with snakes, snails, and puppy dog tails nothing pretty can ensue. I'd rather not mess with it. My recipe for a good Valentine's day has been perfectly crafted and I'd rather not let more ingredients in to potentially ruin the good I've created for myself.
I won't lie to you. Would it be nice to receive flowers and a specially cooked dinner for two? Sure. Would I enjoy baking treats for someone special instead of just my roommates? Of course. Is it pathetic that the only boy getting a valentine from me this year is my 16 month old nephew? Probably. But at the end of the day I am content. Maybe contentedness in singleness stems from the leftover hurt from dating too many snakes and snails. Perhaps supposed "contentedness" is really a protective callous I have built up around a tender heart; something that is good and healthy for a while, but eventually the yellowed Hello Kitty band-aid needs to be removed to let the cut breathe and actually heal. I think that is where true contentedness (and true joy) comes in. I'm not really sure where I am and I think I'm alright with not knowing. I do know that on February 14th when I put on my pretty pink dress and paint little hearts on my fingernails I am doing it solely for me. I'm okay with that. And when I bake my pink cupcakes I am doing it for the girls in my life who love me with longevity. And I'm truly content with that.
Happy Valentine's Day to you, whoever you are and wherever you're at.
*I cannot take credit for such a catchy event title as "Cupid is Stupid". It is a real event hosted by a church I have been known to occasionally frequent. I think the elders must have forgotten their WWJD bracelets at home on the night this one was planned.
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