Surviving Valentine's Day

So the most dreaded holiday has come and gone, and I have emerged unscathed. I am referring, of course, to Valentine's Day, probably the most uncomfortable holiday ever devised by humankind. It's an unpleasant holiday to grapple with when you're in a relationship, because you are inundated with cheesy cards, candy, and other fake signs of affection. And it's even worse when you are single, because you feel like a loser when you are not receiving these lame tokens. There are the few girls that love Valentine's Day, but they are the ones involved in syrupy relationships that are marriage-bound. For the cynical single girls (such as yours truly), Valentine's Day is a holiday that deserves to be eliminated from the calendar permanently.

I made sure to have plans for Thursday night. Normally my Thursday evenings involve watching LOST with my friends and drinking light beer, but not this Thursday. I did not want to seem like a loser; I had to do something more substantial. So when my old buddy Dave asked me once again to see his new apartment and cook me dinner (I had been busy for weeks), I agreed, even though he scheduled it for Thursday night, the only night we both had free.

"So it's okay that it's on Valentine's Day?" he asked me.
"Sure, it'll be an anti-Valentine's Day dinner," I replied. "We'll drink cheap wine and play video games." I was relieved; I was doing something for the evening, but it was not Valentine's Day related. I could coast through the dreaded evening, numbed by cheap wine, filled with Italian food, and in the company of an old friend.

I had alot of work due for Friday (a paper and a presentation), so I spent Thursday afternoon in my room, typing furiously on the computer. At one point my roommate burst into my work sanctuary, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Look what he sent me!" she sang, and proceeded to show me the dozen roses her boyfriend mailed her, along with some other Valentine's Day items. I was a good roommate and indulged her in girly conversation (much oohing and ahhing and 'oh that's soo cute'), but inwardly I felt a little queasy. I was not in the mood to talk about LOVE and WONDERFUL BOYFRIENDS; I was thoroughly entrenched in my role of brooding, cynical, anti-valentine's day creature.

So when it became time to meet up with Dave, I was relieved. Finally I could hang out with someone and kvetch about the ridiculousness of the holiday. I bought a 7.99 bottle of merlot called 'Sweet Bitch' (I'm not kidding- I thought it was so awesome I had to buy it), and made my way to his apartment, where he was cooking up a fabulous Italian dinner.

As soon as I got there, I could see that he was very stressed out about the meal (he was concerned he was going to mess it up or something), and his anxiety began to make me uncomfortable.
"Are you okay?" I asked him repeatedly as he rushed around the kitchen, frenzied. "I mean, it's just me. I'll eat anything."
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he insisted, but I could tell he was not. I became acutely aware that it was only the two of us in his apartment. I threw back a glass of the 'Sweet Bitch' to take the edge off. Dave followed my example.

By the time we sat down to eat, he had had a few glasses, and he was drunk. He's a very skinny guy, and I guess he's a lightweight. It was only 7:00 pm.

"Annie, I don't know how you can just not knock everything off this table, climb over here, and tear my clothes off," he said abruptly. I looked up from my ravioli, mortified. He was laughing, but I could sense truth behind his words.
"Yeah, I'm really restraining myself," I replied uncertainly.
"I mean, I am CUTE!" he declared. "I am so cute!"
"You are drunk," I said disbelievingly.
"Yeah, I am!" and he dissolved into giggles. He went on to say other things that would make certain readers blush, and that I will not get into. The dinner continued, and I ate as quickly as possible; this meal was rapidly heading south.
"I have a really long tongue," Dave boasted next, raising his eyebrows rakishly. "Want to see?"
"No!" I yelled. This situation was unraveling. What happened to my cool, edgy anti-Valentine's Day dinner? I was not supposed to be receiving propositions like this! I was with my old friend, my cynical touchstone. He was NOT supposed to express hidden, bizarre desires to me. I braced myself- if he came over to make the moves on me he was in for a world of hurt.

Lucky for me, he was more interested in finishing his meal than coming over to my side of the table. Dinner ended, and I stood up. "I have to go, I have alot of work to do," I said, without elaboration. Dave was unhappy; he pleaded for me to stay but of course I politely refused. In the end he agreed to walk me to the bus stop. At this point the uncomfortable, druken statements continued (and most of them I cannot relate here).

"I remember when I first saw you," he said as we walked in the crisp night air. "I thought you were so HOT!"
A few seconds later-
"Uhhhhh, I feel so sick! I'm so queasy! I might puke!" he groaned.
I gritted my teeth and sent up a silent prayer. Fortunately, no vomiting occurred. We made it to the bus stop, and I left Dave, and got on the Bx 12 to go back to campus. I walked back to my dorm in a daze. What the hell had just happened? The worst part was, it was only 8:00, and I saw sickeningly cute couples dressed up, out on their way to dinner (the very sight I had tried to avoid in the first place, with my ill-conceived dinner plans). Blehh.

So I guess the moral of the story is, no matter what you do, that day never goes well. Or maybe the moral is, Cum Vino, Veritas. Whatever. I'm just relieved it's a whole year before I have to deal with it again. Happy Valentine's.