A Daisy By Any Other Name Is A-Love-Me-Not

Before I get to the topic of today's blog, let me say that this week has been a rough one for your authoress. After composing a creative posting on Wednesday; one which I gave a lot of thought, the entire thing was deleted. I saved early AND often and it was still deleted. So, I needed a day to recover. I think I am starting to get this writer thing down because I now know how the Lindberghs felt on March 1, 1932.

Now, back to the topic of today. You knew it had to be done. Any publication entitled, "The Cozy and SINGLE Life" has to have a piece of pontification on Valentine's Day.

I am staring down the barrel of 36 and I have never had a Valentine. As a result, I've had lots of opportunity to witness Valentine's Day from the outside looking in. Like the uninvited child pressing her nose against the window of the popular girl's fancy birthday party. First of all, I am THRILLED that Valentine's Day is on a weekend. When Valentine's Day falls on a Saturday that means my office doesn't turn into an instant shrine to Merlin Olsen. I don't return from lunch and have to step back outside my office to read the sign and make sure I am at my work place and didn't stumble into a funeral home by mistake. There's no 3:1 ratio of female employees to flower delivery men. I don't necessarily have a problem with being single on Valentine's Day. I don't need the equivalent of a full-page ad in the New York Times announcing it to everyone, either. "Hey, YOU, single person with no flowers on your desk..."

When Valentine's Day is on a weekend, it's easier to overlook. I can go about my normal weekend routine and not be hit between the eyes with the atrocious color combination of red and pink every time I come around a corner. I can be my usual hermit self and not have to worry about dodging cheesy stuffed animals holding faux satin lame' hearts with the words, "I Wuv You" hot glued across the front in felt lettering. Again, remind why this holiday is so revered and cherished?

Valentine's Day has always been a self imposed status symbol. Even when I was young and had Valentine's parties at school, they were a sign of one's loveability. I can picture the flimsy card board package of valentines to this day. The were wrapped in thin, red plastic wrap and had two clear heart cut-outs for viewing of the contents. Oh and the themes. Every cartoon and child pop culture fad had a valentine produced in its honor. It's no surprise that I usually chose Peanuts valentines.

This anticipation and excitement turned into nerves and anxiety for me. I remember feeling panicked on Valentine's Day because I worried that I would only garner a small amount of valentines and be labeled unpopular or worse, unloved. Even back then, I longed for Valentine's Day to be on Saturday or a Sunday. Now, while my parents didn't have to rent a U-Haul to get me and my valentines home from school, I certainly don't ever recall having a shameful showing. That's the sort of thing you remember for life if it happens to you as a child. I think I came away with a very respectable number of paper valentines and NECCO hearts.

If I wasn't single on Valentine's Day, here's how I'd want it to go down. I'd rather have flowers sent to me at work every day. And on Valentine's Day, no flowers. No sense in being like everyone else, no matter what day of the year it is.