Romance For Sale: Valentine's Day Redux
Like the male officemates that populate Cathy's workplace, I hate Valentine's Day. Doesn't every single woman over the age of 35? The best Valentine's dinner I ever had was with two female pals. We ate in a cozy vegetarian restaurant run by a lesbian couple and there wasn't one straight couple in the place that evening. It was a Hallmark holiday that we joyfully turned on its head.
From my ten year marriage there is no memorable Valentine's Day dinner or gift. I do remember one dinner where we sat in silence as usual. Me hoping that perhaps he would say something--anything--even "pass the salt, please" . Meanwhile he thought about work--what he would say on Monday, how he would solve this problem or that, etc. Or at least I think that's what was going through his brain. Maybe he was lusting after the waiter but even that would have taken an imagination that he just doesn't have.
I realized the other day as I was racing past a huge display of Valentine cards and gew-gaws, that it has been three years since I have enjoyed even the slightest bit of romance at this time of year. Sure, there have been men but "dating" and romance aren't the same thing. To me, "romance" means there is someone single who you want to be with every minute you can, someone you might come to love someday, someone you find physically and intellectually attractive. For the past three years, or maybe the last 13 years, there has been nobody who fits that definition. There have been entanglements with a few men who don't fit the bill but otherwise, nothing.
My latest Craig's List foray netted two possibilities who were exciting only on the phone. I used to say that all I want in a man is someone who will pick up his own dirty underwear without being asked and not drive me crazy. Now I think it might be a man who doesn't leave his clothes on the floor and understands that babysitters cost from $10-$15 per hour--and who doesn't drive me crazy.
A friend of mine says that I have low expectations when it comes to men. I think I have low expectations when it comes to everything but maybe not men. Finding a guy who doesn't leave his clothes on the floor, isn't boring, cooks and pays for the babysitter every other time has proven pretty difficult actually. When I was a kid, my mother used to explain that even though my father paid no attention to us, was frequently drunk and verbally abusive, and was basically despised by my brother and me--he was a good husband because he worked full-time and always brought home his entire paycheck. Even then I knew that definition was pathetic.
Valentine's Day is mainly for children and twenty-somethings. Over the past few years, I've noticed that VD has become a mini-Halloween in terms of candy collection. The 20 or so half-hearted Valentines that each kid brings home from school are all attached to some sort of candy--usually something sour and mushy. I think my son has the right idea. This morning, he was busily decorating his Valentine's box, with strands of string positioned to look like exploded brain matter. That boy can do anything with a glue gun. Martha Stewart watch out. I will spend Valentine's Day trying to separate the kids from their candy. (It goes in the trash, not in me, btw). And maybe a small part of me will indulge in a bit of self-pity and perhaps one Gummy Worm.
From my ten year marriage there is no memorable Valentine's Day dinner or gift. I do remember one dinner where we sat in silence as usual. Me hoping that perhaps he would say something--anything--even "pass the salt, please" . Meanwhile he thought about work--what he would say on Monday, how he would solve this problem or that, etc. Or at least I think that's what was going through his brain. Maybe he was lusting after the waiter but even that would have taken an imagination that he just doesn't have.
I realized the other day as I was racing past a huge display of Valentine cards and gew-gaws, that it has been three years since I have enjoyed even the slightest bit of romance at this time of year. Sure, there have been men but "dating" and romance aren't the same thing. To me, "romance" means there is someone single who you want to be with every minute you can, someone you might come to love someday, someone you find physically and intellectually attractive. For the past three years, or maybe the last 13 years, there has been nobody who fits that definition. There have been entanglements with a few men who don't fit the bill but otherwise, nothing.
My latest Craig's List foray netted two possibilities who were exciting only on the phone. I used to say that all I want in a man is someone who will pick up his own dirty underwear without being asked and not drive me crazy. Now I think it might be a man who doesn't leave his clothes on the floor and understands that babysitters cost from $10-$15 per hour--and who doesn't drive me crazy.
A friend of mine says that I have low expectations when it comes to men. I think I have low expectations when it comes to everything but maybe not men. Finding a guy who doesn't leave his clothes on the floor, isn't boring, cooks and pays for the babysitter every other time has proven pretty difficult actually. When I was a kid, my mother used to explain that even though my father paid no attention to us, was frequently drunk and verbally abusive, and was basically despised by my brother and me--he was a good husband because he worked full-time and always brought home his entire paycheck. Even then I knew that definition was pathetic.
Valentine's Day is mainly for children and twenty-somethings. Over the past few years, I've noticed that VD has become a mini-Halloween in terms of candy collection. The 20 or so half-hearted Valentines that each kid brings home from school are all attached to some sort of candy--usually something sour and mushy. I think my son has the right idea. This morning, he was busily decorating his Valentine's box, with strands of string positioned to look like exploded brain matter. That boy can do anything with a glue gun. Martha Stewart watch out. I will spend Valentine's Day trying to separate the kids from their candy. (It goes in the trash, not in me, btw). And maybe a small part of me will indulge in a bit of self-pity and perhaps one Gummy Worm.
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