Happy Sadist's Day

When I was a younger woman, still in the grips of those horrible teenage years, my best friend and I hated Valentine's Day. We hated it with a passion. Why? Why, for the same reason every single, teenage girl hates Valentine's Day. It was a reminder that we were single and therefor unpopular and so obviously losers.

We dubbed the holiday Sadist's Day. We even made up a song. We wore all black and rented horror/slasher films and were generally your average over-dramatic sixteen year olds. Looking back, I laugh.

I still refer to the holiday as Sadist's Day, out of joking deference to my silly younger self. And so does K, who is still one of my best friends, even now. We don't get all dolled up in black and we don't sing angry death metal anymore, but it's our own little joke that has survived along with our friendship.

These days, I just don't care about Valentine's Day. I find it a silly holiday, with little actual meaning or depth. It's about candy and flowers and if you're very good, getting laid. The romantics like to dress it up, but all it is is a competition of affection, a celebration of worth and monetary expenditure. And don't we do that every day?

I'm not bitter. I'm not some desperate single who feels jealous. I'm single by choice, and if I wanted a girlfriend I'd have one in an instant. I like my own company and I like living my life by myself. It makes me happy. I just think Valentine's Day is silly.

The only thing I like about Valentine's Day is the day after. Or, as I call it, Candy Day. All the candy you can eat for half off? Now that's something worth celebrating.