Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day is a day on which lovers give gifts and cards as expressions of their love for each other. As an adult I understand that. But when I was as a child, Valentine’s Day meant discovering how popular I might (or might not) be with classmates, and eating not very tasty heart-shaped candies with sayings on them that were somewhat beyond my understanding. “Sweet Talk” and “True Love” meant nothing to me as a seven-year-old. I would have understood “Might Cause Cavities” and “Hide Me From Your Brother.” I’m sure these sayings were considered but were too wordy for the tiny ½” candy hearts. However, the candy makers do get it now. “Tweet Me” and “Text Me” are things all kids understand.

I did not realize there was another day similar to Valentine’s Day until we moved to Michigan in the early 1970’s. There I discovered a group of enthusiasts promoting Sweetest Day. Sweetest Day, in October, was originally observed as a day to give something nice to those less fortunate than ourselves. My research did not turn up the name of the party or parties responsible for making this day another day for lovers, but Hallmark^® and Russell Stover^® are at the top of my list of suspects.

Hubby didn’t buy in! Valentine’s Day in February, my birthday in March, and Christmas in December apparently seemed enough celebrating and shopping for him. But he’s always great with selecting gifts. So during our years together I have enjoyed roses, jewelry, candy, cologne, and dinner at fine restaurants on Valentine’s Day. And he always selects a beautiful card with the traditional heart and an engraved message he would never have penned.

This week my email was “spammed” by a company advertising what I consider a loutish Valentine’s Day gift. Even if Hubby received this message, I know he is much, MUCH too smart to bite on this one. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how many husbands will purchase this “Sweetheart Set” solely because of its name. The contents include perfume sticks, lip balm, and soap. Are they kidding? I may be a little sensitive but in my opinion this ranks right up there with a gift certificate for plastic surgery. I pity the poor chumps who decide to travel this low-cost, very dangerous route. I hope they have room in their tax file folders for divorce decrees.

Clipart by Bobbie Peachey