Valentine's Day is the Cubic Zirconium of romance; it's the yappy-dog-that-fits-in-a-pocket-book of holidays. And, for any single gal over the age of 10, it's the least day favorite day of the entire year. Unfortunately, I have class and work today, so I must leave my pajamas behind and brace the super scary world of cute couples. And, if you ask me, the only way that this day will even be the least bit tolerable will be if I drown myself in red velvet cupcakes and sugar cookies piled high with pink icing.
I guess you could say this is my "I hate Valentine's Day" post. This is the one day a year when you feel like a complete Debbie-Downer for admitting that you had love, but I just don't care! Why can we just go back to the good ole days of elementary school where every person in the class received Valentine's card? I certainly miss those cute cardboard papers.
Manhattan is the capital of people living my themselves. Pop culture constantly writes of the hard-charging carer girl who gets her comeuppance, either violently or dying a slow death by late-night memo and Chines takeout. It's the city where independence is celebrated; at least 364 days a year. It's that pesky 24 hour span-Valentine's Day- that gets the city is a dizzy. Thanks to this one day of dread, twenty-somethings everywhere are wondering if they should trade in their little black dresses for a litter box and catnip. Am I called to a life on singleness? And all because of conversation hearts and overpriced teddy bears...well, I'm taking a stand. I'm here to say celebrating alone is actually much more rewarding. Really, I don't need a man to buy me a box of chocolates and cheap red roses. I'm perfectly capable of dropping into Duane Reade and picking of a box of Russell Stovers if it fits my needs.