*Hugh Grant’s voice* ‘I’m just a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.’ And all the ladies say? ‘Awwwww!!!’
Gag.
Ah, l’amour. The universal leveller of men and the excuse for all sorts of acts of idiocy, not the least of which is the equally dreaded and anticipated madness on St. Valentine’s Day (which is also known as ‘it’s-the-thought-that-counts-but-you-had-better-spend-some-serious-money-or-your-ass-is-sleeping-on-the-couch day’). Now, don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against love. Love is a beautiful thing. I mean, what could be better than two people walking down a boulevard somewhere in continental Europe, hand in hand, autumn leaves drifting slowly down while someone’s A-line skirt (not yours, Kanye) blows gently in the wind? Love is a beautiful thing! Valentine’s Day however, I have a problem with, for any number of reasons.
Every year, around this time, people suddenly start to run around like headless chickens, all of them trying to find:
- Some sort of partner/(not so) significant other
- The Guidebook on How Not To Get Caught With Your Sidechick By Your Girlfriend and Other Sidechick
- The most expensive-looking briefs/vest/socks set under N5000
- The least painful way to end their lives because they still haven’t gotten over that person who left them two years, eight months, three weeks and four days ago.
I have nothing against love. Valentine’s Day though – Valentine’s Day is a big fat commercial joke that white people created because they wanted more chocolate, and what better way to justify buying more slaves for their cocoa plantations than a martyr dying for his ladylove? I bet you didn’t know that was why. That is why. Other reasons for this heinous crime of a day are:
- To make single people feel bad
- To make single people feel bad
- To make single people who got unceremoniously dumped feel even worse
- To make fat single people feel good about eating more chocolate ice cream in their pyjamas
- To give Igbo men an excuse to wear head-to-toe red.
So why do we insist, every year, on this ridiculous tradition of suffering endless amounts of pressure to come up with the perfect gift/pretend not to be bitter/advertise ourselves so someone will notice us/punish our partners in the most creative way possible? I honestly don’t know. I’ll admit I love expensive gifts of perfume and jewellery as much as the next girl, and God knows whoever sends me (me alone, might I add) on a shopping trip to, say, Milan – that man will probably earn himself a special place on my speed-dial list, but why wait until Valentine’s Day to do this? Send me to Milan NOW nigga!
Think about it. The first sign that something is wrong with Val’s Day is the fact that it’s in February. The month has only 28 days, ergo, self-esteem issues. So someone decided to help it out by making it the month of ‘love’. The second sign is, someone died to create this holiday. Not like Easter – I mean, Jesus came back to life. This poor fellow stayed dead. Third thing is, it turns people’s brains to mush. Giant puddles of hormone-soaked mush. So where did we get the impression that Val’s Day is the day to buy gifts for the person we (maybe possibly probably might) love more than anyone else in the world? I have no idea! Because that’s not what I see – what I see is a weird expensive morbid zombie phenomenon.
So here’s what I think we should all do. (No, not Anti-Valentine’s Day. That just screams ‘I think I’m unattractive and no one will love me’. And that’s really pathetic.) My solution is this: buy a bottle of coke. One for yourself only. No, seriously. Buy a bottle of coke, find a nice comfortable chair, put some ice in a glass, and open happiness. Why? I’m not sure exactly. But coke is great. And you could very well peel back the rubber covering under the crown and win a free Coke pen. Which would be awesome.
…
PS: I really want to apologise to anyone who started reading this piece and expected some profound revelations. I don’t have a boyfriend and I hate all of you who do. I also do not think I will get any nice gifts, as I have no toasters with any money. And as I have no money myself, a bottle of Coke is really all that’s within my budget. So, yeah. That really is the end of the piece. You can throw tomatoes at me now; just make sure they’re not rotten so I can use them to make my next meal.
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