EVERYONE SHOULD GET A VALENTINE'S DAY VETO

OValentine's Day is great for people in love.  But what about the rest of the world?  Don't they feel lousy enough already?   I think they should be able to veto the whole day.  Without apology.  No questions asked.

Now that I think about it, they should also get the day off from work, so they don't have to witness the endless parade of floral deliveries to their beaming co-workers.  While the top of their desks look like the vast, empty plains of the Serengeti.

When I was a second year law student, I was dating a guy, so I figured I'd better get him a card for Valentine's Day.  I went to about five stores, but couldn't find the right card.  Then I finally figured out it was because I had the wrong guy.  (You probably suspected that, however, when I called him "a guy," rather than "the golden Adonis who turned my knees to jelly.")

For some, Valentine's Day can be an opportunity for much-needed discernment.

For others, it's nothing more than a devastating, not-so-subtle reminder that no one is sending them roses.  Or chocolates.  Or little candy hearts with saccharine messages that are just plain stupid.  "Lover Boy" -  really?!   I guess "Fools Around Relentlessly" or "Guaranteed To Cheat On You" wouldn't fit (physically or commercially) on the pastel colored confectionery that tastes like chalk.

And for a few poor souls, it's the "day of Satan" that brings up soul-charring emotional scars.

On balance, is it worth it?  I think that's really open for debate.  After all, those people with a "special someone" already feel great.    Why do we need to make everyone else feel even worse?  One day a year.  Every year.

Plus, I don't think it's possible for someone, in good faith, to proclaim their love simply by picking up the phone and ordering a delivery.  Real love doesn't work that way.  It's not on speed-dial.  And it usually happens when no one is looking or keeping score.

Case in point: the Valentine's Day after our first son, Ian, was born.  Duncan and I were at the office and, over lunch, he apologized for not getting me anything.  I took a moment and just looked at him.  This was the man who, a few days earlier, had retrieved an awakening Ian from his crib, so I could indulge in a few more delicious hours of sleep.  The man who'd told me that my stretch marks were beautiful, even though we both knew that my postpartum belly looked like wet crepe paper.  And perhaps best of all, the man who told me that I looked "hot" in my black, stretch-polyester maternity jeans, months after Ian was born.

I told Duncan that we could buy each other dessert (remember the elastic jeans?).    One delectable goody; two spoons.  He smiled because he knew I knew.

I guess my philosophy about Valentine's Day has changed through the years, as I've gotten older.  In elementary school, I couldn't wait to a smother a shoebox in aluminum foil, and wait for the wafer-thin cards to slip through the slot I'd meticulously carved out the night before.  But now, I'm not sure Valentine's Day is necessary.  I think I'd rather embrace ordinary moments that make love extraordinary.   All year long.