It is once again that time of year when one never knows which way the wind will blow.

We suffer through great gusts of hot air, or frigid blasts all over the country, breeding illness and insanity.

At least the damned groundhog gave us something to look forward to. (Yes, I KNOW I’ve ended a sentence with a preposition. “Something for which to look forward” seems just too frigging presumptuous.) Cabin fever has people on edge. There seems to be nothing but bad news on TV. 

Of course I am referring to Valentine’s Day.

If I see one more jewelry commercial I fear I will gouge my eyes out with a melon baller. I can’t grab the remote fast enough.  But as soon as I change the channel there is another assault on my senses. Open hearts and diamond rings and circles of infinity…oh MY. 

The sappy, gorgeous, heterosexual couples, (even the OLD ones are perfect,) gaze into each other’s eyes lovingly.  A woman excuses herself to go dance around by the ladies room while she texts all her friends. He went to JARROD!!

Puleeeeeeeze.

My favorite Valentine's Day was when I was in second grade. I had a crush on a pale, sickly boy with a runny nose named Richard Allison. I won an award for the best card, a giant pink hippo, and the most creative Valentine box, decorated with doilies, Red Hots, and candy hearts. Our Moms had purchased multi-packs of cards that said things like, “Valentine, You Fly Me To The MOON!”  or “Be Mine Forever!” Boy, were WE naïve?  Right?   

I believe ignorance is bliss. I probably wouldn’t have even tried to draw a giant pink hippo surrounded by a tulle and hearts tutu, or wasted my time cutting doilies had I known what this love thing was REALLY about.  It’s ICKY!

I mean, I never had to actually touch Richard Allison or even talk to the kid for God's sake. It wouldn'thave devastated me had I not received a card from him.  But that wouldn’t have happened, because everyone in the class was required to address a valentine to everyone in the class. 

We marched around the room placing our alphabetized envelopes in every box.  Rejection and torment were not options. We couldn’t spell well enough to write mean things on the cards anyway. We barely signed our names.

Had I actually had to LIVE with Richard Allison I probably would have found him highly annoying, especially the runny nose part.

Indeed, as an adult, I have discovered that most of the men I dated were pretty annoying. You do realize that men HATE Valentine’s Day …don’t you?  

It was always SO satisfying to get a bunch of dyed carnations from the Exxon station down the street after enduring endless flower deliveries to everyone around me at the office.  What kind of a sadistic, trumped–up holiday DOES this to people? Can I get a WITNESS?

And so the actors gush. 

There’s a close-up of a perfectly manicured male hand opening a velvet box for a beautiful woman who gasps, covers her mouth, and tries to tear-up spontaneously while she looks lovingly at the actor across from her, who she may or may not hook up with after the shoot, before she goes home to hubby.  

About D. Klein: I live in Safety Harbor and plan to be a famous writer someday so I can buy a slick pair of expensive shoes and travel to Pittsburgh, or some other exotic place.