2009-02-13
Vee Dee
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, which is great only in that it means February is half OVER. (February, in case you're just tuning in, being my LEAST favorite month.)
Valentine's Day, to me, is about a whole bunch of needless expectations. Oh, and it also means that the middle aisle of CVS looks like a giant, red, cellophane-wrapped bordello. As with New Year's Eve, I have learned to STOP having any expectations whatsoever about this "holiday." Because much like New Year's Eve, my track record with this "holiday" is not a good one.
I come from that generation BEFORE it was decided that every kid's a winner, every kid gets a trophy even if some of them got their asses handed to them as well, and -- heck -- let Madysynne spell that word however she wants: to CORRECT her would STIFLE HER CREATIVITY.
I digress. What I'm driving at here is that in MY day (y'know, before teh interwebz), if you didn't want to give a valentine to the kid who ate paste, by God you didn't have to. And while I was not a paste-eater, per se, I was not on everyone's valentine list, for sure. And I went to CATHOLIC SCHOOL. You know, do unto others unless they're weird or something.
And then there was Valentine's Day, 1986 -- my sophomore year in high school.
In the week or so leading up to this high holy day, chipper cheery members of the Student Council (or, as my friend Keith called them, "Stupid Council") went from homeroom to homeroom taking orders for color-coded carnations. Dig: white was for your friends, red was for the person you were currently playing tonsil-hockey with, and PINK was for the person that you maybe wanted to play tonsil-hockey with. They were, I think, a dollar apiece, and would be delivered to you on glorious Valentine's Day Morn.
For about three months at that point, I'd been quietly pining for a boy. I would pass his locker before "F" period, hoping with all my tiny teenage heart that he'd be there, which he usually WAS, of course, since I generally knew his schedule down to the nanosecond. It's important for you to know this, because of what transpired on glorious Valentine's Day Morn of 1986.
That morning I sat in homeroom, doodling on my Converse hightops, not expecting to get ANY carnations of ANY hue, frankly, when one of the chipper cheery Stupid Council members stammered my name: "Lisa....Mc-Mc-COGGLE-LIN?"
I looked up to see the Stupid Council member holding a PINK carnation. PINK.
Amid a chorus of snickers, I trudged up to accept this token of hoped-for tonsil hockey, and read the tag:
"Lisa - see you F period! Love - ??"
OH MY GOD. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
I soared through the rest of my day. F period could not come quickly enough. What would I say? What would I DO? I decided that the best tactic would be to make sure I walked EVEN MORE SLOWLY past the object of my affection's locker, prominently displaying my PINK carnation like a BADGE OF FUCKING HONOR.
There he was, at his locker. There he was, shutting his locker. There he was, walking right by me like he always did. But. Butbutbut...but?
Puzzled and heartbroken, I went into my F period history class, took my seat and began fumbling through my backpack when I sensed someone standing over me. I looked up to see Arthur, a nice enough guy who'd actually called me not long ago to ask something about this very class. My sister answered, and yelled, "Hey, Lees - phone. I think it's CHRISSY."
I sat up and wiped my orange-ish bangs from my face. "Oh, hey Arthur."
"So you got the FLOWER?" he squeaked.
And THAT is pretty much Valentine's Day for me. Or WAS, until I stopped giving a shit.
lisamcc at 8:29 p.m.
3 comments so far
christine
2009-02-14 03:57:23
at least you got a flower...I NEVER did...I HATED that ritual. It continued into college for me too - STUPID STUPID STUPID holiday.
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Jess
2009-02-14 16:57:41
Yeah, seriously! At least SOMEone had a crush on you! I certainly never got a flower.
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LisaMcC
2009-02-14 20:31:01
Oh, I know. I know. But understand that at the TIME, this was UTTERLY TRAGIC AND COMPLETELY DEVASTATING.
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Stumble It!
