Don’t get me wrong. I love love. I love the idea of love, and I love to be loved. I love giving love and be surrounded by love. I love a lot of people, my pet, my house, and my work. Love has been with me since I can remember.
I just don’t like Valentine’s Day. I don’t like to receive flowers or teddy bears. The one time I decided to join the fun was when I was first year college, and I regretted it. I was embarrassed to do that, more so because it was I who wooed the man.
If I had my way–yes, Bernard, I want you to hear me out–I want to just have a casual dinner with my husband in our home with a home-cooked meal I’ll be praying I won’t over- or undercook. Then we’ll watch Fringe, Criminal Minds, and other forensic show there is on cable. Or I’ll dig among the CDs and DVDs until I can find a compilation of old-school Star Trek Original episodes and watch “The City on the Edge of Forever.” Or perhaps since it’s Humor Night (I just made that up) in Starworld, we’ll have a large dose of How I Met Your Mother and Gary Unmarried.
Seriously, I just don’t think we need one day to remind ourselves love is special. Worse, love shouldn’t be defined by dinners, roses, chocolates (okay, chocolate’s fine), and other gifts. Just like Christmas, the real meaning of the day shouldn’t be confined to February 14. Everyone should live by its tenets all throughout his or her life.