2004-02-13

VD. Feh.

Aw, crap...it's Valentine's Day tomorrow, isn't it?

Weblogs and online diaries across this vast internet are eschewing this "holiday" for its dubious origins, its cold commercial appeal, its phony lace-piped sentimentality, and, well, mine's no different, I suppose, but the truth of the matter is that I've reached this nice frame of mind where I just don't give a fiddler's fuck one way or the other about it.

It serves a purpose in that it gives the CVS something to peddle down the center aisle in that dreary retail void between Christmas and Easter. That's about it.

Having been the recipient of many "sympathy valentines" throughout grade school (you know -- the ones that your parents make you write out), I remember well the sickly hysterical feeling of dread come Valentine's Day, when I'd affix my gaily-designed "mailbox" to my desk and pray a quick decade on the Rosary that I wouldn't be the kid with the least number of dumb little cards.

I also remember the Valentine's Day of my sophomore year in high school. The Student Council took up shop in the cafeteria for a full week prior, selling carnations which would be delivered to your homeroom. "Red means love, white means friend and PINK means you're friends but you want it to be more," the bubbly, root-permed Student Council member explained.

That morning, I honestly wasn't expecting any floral bounty in any hue, but the bubbly, root-permed Student Council member who delivered the flowers that morning squinted at the tag on a pink carnation and stammered: "Lisa...M-M-McCloggin?"

Stunned, I tromped up to the front to a chorus of sniggers and snatched my lone pink carnation. The tag read: "See you F period! Love - ???"

F period? Who the fuck was in my F period class? The locker of the boy that I not-so-secretly pined for was located just outside that classroom, and it was true enough that he was usually there, switching his books, right before that class (I had his every movement memorized, natch). Could it be....?

I fairly sailed along on a cloud of adolescent euphoria, impervious to the catcalls and staccato declarations of "freak" which usually peppered my day. I couldn't wait for F period, as I pictured the boy at his locker, grinning sheepishly as he saw me approach with my pink carnation.

(CUE: "If You Leave," by OMD)

He wasn't at his locker. Curious.

I went into class, feeling vaguely defeated yet still hopeful, when a guy I scarcely knew approached my desk. He'd actually called my house once; my sister answered the phone, put the receiver down on the counter and hollered, "It's for you, Lees -- I think it's Missy!"

He now stood in front of me, sheepishly grinning. "So you got my flower?"

(CUE: sound of needle being dragged across record)

This all being said, I do fully expect a Whitman's sampler this year.

lisamcc at 9:20 a.m.

4 comments so far
Tom
2004-02-13 13:40:40
Whitmans?! Kiddo, if you're gonna drown it in chocolate, at least make it worth the mouth-to-ass trip. Go for Teuchier's, or at the very least Lindt truffles!
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Jocelyn
2004-02-13 15:18:24
Jesus, that story has John Hughes written all over it!
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telepathy
2004-02-16 22:38:52
enhhh, I could'a done without the OMD.
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Tina
2004-02-27 08:04:12
Forgive me for forgetting, but what boy did I ever confuse for Missy? The poor sod.
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