Face it: Valentine’s Day sucks. It’s the ultimate ginned-up, fake celebration foisted upon American males solely to benefit greeting card companies, cheap chocolate manufacturers and florists. And women. Boy do the gals looooove Valentine’s Day. For men it’s a duty, for women it’s like Christmas, with sex.
Women love it because it’s the one day of the year they think they can force us to do something nice for them….all in the name of “romance.” And, like moths to the flame, men fall for it year after year for one and only one reason: Because it’s the one day of the year we know, if we play our cards right (and by “play our cards right” I mean do exactly what is expected of us), we will get our weenies waxed.
Think about it: Valentine’s Day is really nothing more than a commercial transaction. Women say “here’s the price,” and men say (like they always say): “okay I’ll pay it.”
Of course there’s nothing preventing such bartering from going on the other 364 days of the year, but Valentine’s Day is the one day where everyone knows the rules and the parameters of the contract. That’s why it continues year after year even though we’re being played for saps by women who (if you think about it) are putting a pretty low price on their goods and services.
Admit it: “Buy me dinner, get me some chocolates and a card and I’m all yours” is a fairly modest outlay compared to what some guys spend on trim. It’s the Valentine’s Day deal’s short duration (and modest exchange) that probably accounts for the continued popularity of February 14th as a day when both sides get what they want.
So, with these thoughts in mind, here’s a few do’s and don’ts to help guide you through the next twelve hours of this universal conspiracy against our right to be unthinking, unfeeling, un-speaking barbarians who enjoy the simple pleasures of our man-cave:
Do: Make her dinner tonight.
Don’t: Go to a restaurant. (Any schmuck can make a reservation; it takes a real lothario to whip up a chicken paprikash or an authentic carbonara. And nothing will separate a woman from her underwear faster than a homemade crème brûlée. (Or knowing how to properly accent it for that matter.) Besides, restaurants are packed today and hate it. Everything is a two-top, amateurs are everywhere, and no one is drinking too much. Which leads us to our second tip…
Do: Get her tipsy. (One bottle of decent champagne should do the trick.)
Don’t: Get her drunk (Of course, women don’t have to be “up” for the occasion as much as we do, but no matter how well each of you perform, nothing is less romantic than a hangover.)
Do: Buy her something.
Don’t: Forget that whatever goodwill your gift engenders will last only as long as the next time you forget to put the cap on the toothpaste.
And while we’re on the subject of gifts….
Do: Make the gift proportional to the length of your relationship. (Expensive jewelry, fur coats and ruby-encrusted dildos are fine for long term commitments, but if you’re only on your third date, stick with a card and tickets to her favorite romantic music.)
Don’t: Forget that the duration of passion is proportionate to the original resistance of the woman.
Do: Remember that love has been described as a “temporary insanity curable by marriage.” (Ambrose Bierce)
Don’t: Ever say those words out loud in the presence of any female.
Do: Occasionally remind yourself that love is only a dirty trick played on us by nature to achieve the continuation of the species.
Don’t: Spend the evening spouting things like “Love is the desire to prostitute oneself” (Charles Baudelaire), “Love is what happens to a man and woman who don’t know each other” (W. Somerset Maugham), and “Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence” (H. L. Mencken).
Unless you don’t care about the payoff. But of course you do, which is why you’ve bought into the whole absurdity in the first place. Regardless, even if you’re all in (and in the saddle), never lose sight of the immortal words of Lord Chesterfield: “Sex: the pleasure is momentary, the position is ridiculous and the expense damnable.”
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!
This of course presupposes that only the man in any relationship gives flowers or cards, or takes the partner out to dinner. It presupposes it because the author of the article is a blatant sexist. Perhaps he should stick to reviewing restaurants.
Sorry about Tyler, John. He sounds like the kind of entitled man-child that lets mommy pay for dinner on Mother’s Day too. John walks a fine line between chauvinism and chivalry, but at least he is self-aware.
John, I know you’re a liberal guy, but I suspect you react to a vegan restaurant like a vampire does to a crucifix. So tell me what your take is of Bill Clinton’s much-ballyhooed visit to the vegan Simply Pure, in Container Park.
ELV responds re: Bill Clinton eating vegan at Container Park. We think politics and campaign contributions had more to do with Big Bill’s dining choice than the quality of the food.
To Tyler Zzzzzzzzzz:
I suggest you stick to reading Salon and the Huffington Post.
If your sensibilities were offended by this article , or you fear you were in an unsafe place, or you believe you have suffered a micro-agression, I suggest you get your mother to get you a cookie and a blanket.
Mark the calendar for 12 years from now, and maybe, just maybe, this website might begin to make sense for you.
I’m not optimistic, however.
PS to Tyler Zzzzzzzzz:
If your knee jerk, politically “I hope I got it right” comment got you laid, let us know.
So we can avoid her like the plague she must be.
By the way…. Cheers!