Why I Hate Valentine's Day

I'm sure I'm not alone in hating Valentine's Day, but there are probably very few people who regard it as the annual bane of their existence. The irony is, I should look forward to it the way I did a a small child, guaranteed to receive presents, flowers and adulation - because Valentine's Day is also my birthday.

This used to be quite a boon - in primary school or even early high school, I could always walk with my chin held high to the bus stop, weighed down with flowers and chocolates. No-one ever had an excuse to forget my birthday, or worse, skip it because they had a romantic event to attend, and at this stage I didn't mind cards festooned with Mickey Mouse and a plethora of red glittery hearts. Valentine's was simply synonymous with my special day and I was quite happy to have my presents wrapped in love-heart print paper or pink roses.

But now, the irony of my birthdate has grown to staggering proportions, considering that most men I have had any kind of romantic involvement with seem inexplicably terrified of me - I am convinced I am cursed.

If I dare to attempt to enter a restaurant despite the guaranteed presence of sickening couples, I will most likely be unable to get a table. Not to mention that every smug loved-up girl in town steals a little bit of that birthday sparkle, enhancing special single feeling and making me feel extra-not-very-special at the same time. If I try to go to a bar - in particular, a champagne bar - I will no doubt find that for the evening they have suddenly decided to introduce a burlesque show, or a couples-only policy, or a cover charge ("only 10 pounds for girls!").

To make it all worse, Cupid not only ruins my birthday every year, but bestows his scorn on me for the remainder of it as well. I am the most terminally single person I have ever encountered - including Patty & Selma on The Simpsons. So not only does my birthday remind me very conveniently of what I haven't got (even more so than every single other bloody day of the year), it also makes the date quite a laughable event for most people who know me.

In the unlikely event I do happen to be in a relationship, I will most likely receive a cop-out half-Valentines half-birthday present, probably in heart-printed wrapping paper. A certain ex also decided it was a good opportunity to make me pay for half of my birthday dinner, using the logic that since it was also Valentine's Day, I should be contributing to the festivities. Needless to say, that particular evening ended with a loud argument in the street about his treatment of women.

On the up side, I can provide a welcome refuge for fellow singletons or sane people who reject the Hallmark-induced madness of St Valentine (by the way, I in no way degrade the efforts of the man who was apparently a priest and therefore most likely innocent - most theories blame Geoffrey Chaucer for this whole debacle. Far be it from me to suggest that perhaps it is why he was murdered. But there you have it.)

Other advantages include the easy availability of chocolate, various freebies and an increased likelihood of flowers.

And my dearly beloved loyal friends who, like me, reject Valentine's Day, can join me for a champagne ... perhaps cosily huddled in a grotty pub that the couples have kindly left for us. I have also discovered a surprising number of friends, ever since childhood, who share my pain of being a Valentine's baby. Often we can join forces against the saccharine madness.

This year I will most likely be doing that, and I'm determined to find a bar in London that hasn't succumbed....



Image by MacPhersoon at Deviantart.com