Okay, I'm not this cynical about Valentine's Day, and it's not an entirely made-up holiday like Mother's Day, or Father's Day, though all three are based on marketing and guilt.
But saying you're not as cynical as Rat still leaves you with a fair amount of wiggle room, and it makes no difference how you feel about Valentine's Day itself, because the issue at hand is how you feel about whoever you are being guilt-tripped into acknowledging.
Assuming you have anyone to acknowledge in the first place.
You don't have to be Charlie Brown to have Valentine's Day be a reminder that you don't have a Valentine, though there isn't much you can do about that.
Lovers are like cats in that you don't so much purposefully go out and acquire a cat so much as you simply find that a cat has happened to you.
And the more eager you appear to be to shower affection on a cat, the more likely it is that the cat will stare at you suspiciously and then bolt.
Of course, people do decide to get a cat and go looking for one, but, geez, that's like going on Match.com.
I've even heard of people paying for cats.
I'm not judging them.
Though if you think spending money on a cat will keep it from running off, you don't understand cats.
True story:
When my ex moved out, she rented a place and shortly after, a cat arrived. The boys were delighted and named the cat "Jack."
After a few weeks, Jack disappeared and the kids were sad and then at some point Jack reappeared, and their mother decided that, if he mattered that much to them, he needed to become more formally a part of the family.
So she took him to a groomer to get him washed and have his tangled hair combed out, then took him to the vet and had him wormed, vaccinated and neutered, and then got him a nice blue collar.
Shortly after his stitches heeled and he was allowed out of the house, he disappeared once again.
And then he reappeared a few days later, only he had somehow lost his nice blue collar.
And regained all his tangles.
And both his testicles.
I'm not sure where I was going with this story, but I don't think I've harmed the metaphor in the least.
Anyway, you have to acknowledge the holiday, and while, like Frazz, I would prefer a lover who doesn't put a whole lot of importance on Mandatory Signs of Affection, even Ms Plainwell is pleased to get the flower.
Presentation matters, by the way, which is why the single rose has impact.
I say this for readers -- mostly, I suspect, male -- who are not aware that wrapping an insignificant present makes it significant, while handing over something cool in a paper bag reduces its status.
I think it's easier for a lot of people -- mostly, I suspect, male -- to accept that this is true when you are giving business gifts in Japan, where presentation is nearly the entire point of gift-giving, than when you are giving personal gifts to women, but a consistent failure to figure that sort of thing out will eventually leave you lying on the ground with your head leaned up against the mailbox post saying "Rats."
Presentation is the only explanation for this Stephanie Piro cartoon in Six Chix because, while both diamonds and chocolate are highly appreciated as gifts, the value of the combination is dubious at best.
Rebranding industrial-grade diamonds as "chocolate" was a stroke of marketing genius, and note that I pulled that source from Jezebel, not Playboy. And that I was going to call it a master stroke but realized I didn't need to wander into that rhetorical minefield, either.
Still, the idea of someone being thrilled over her boyfriend's choice of a substandard diamond sold at a store in the mall kind of does embody the idea that presentation is the thing. If there ever was a good time to bring up the essential overall phoniness of diamonds, neither February 14 nor proposal time is it.
Heck, you can even get your ass kicked for arguing against the stereotype.
I think it's like the Irish and drinking: It's okay for the Irish to make jokes about it, but it's offensive coming from anyone else.
Here's what else I think: Valentine's Day is probably one of those opportunities to shut up that one ought not to squander.
But speaking of love and pets
By contrast with cats, dogs offer unconditional love, and today's Watson made me smile in particular because of the inexplicable affection my dogs have all had for small children.
The first half dozen or so lived with my kids and so their affection was understandable. Even what might have looked like indignities were heaped upon them in joyful play, and, as one of my sons remarked about the legendary dog with whom he grew up, "When we played monkeys, Szabo was a monkey."
And he could also be a little boy being sung to sleep.
But the last several have had only occasional grandchild exposure, plus whatever incidental contact they may have on the street, and yet they adore small children, and not only understand the need to be tolerant, but actively seek out the company of tiny people.
As for staffing a kissing booth, the truth isn't too far from Watson's depiction: This pair was so fond of kids that I incorporated them into my educational program as mascots. Here they are with a pair of boys they had just met moments earlier at a walk in favor of something or other, and I also took them to public trade shows, where they cheerfully took turns having children climb over them while I talked to parents who were given little choice but to stop at our booth.
Unconditional love. The kind that Jared doesn't sell.
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