#ValentinesDay #nope by #MacKade #hazardoustoyoursanity

Posted by Viviana MacKade on February 05, 2023 in MacKade,

I don’t like St. Valentine’s. 

Actually, I don’t care about it. I mean, with hearts, balloons, and chocolate everywhere so there’s not much to dislike. 

If you read the legend ( HERE is the link to History.com to read all the different legends linked to the Saint and the day) it's pretty nice, whatever version of it you buy into. 

So why I don’t care for it?

Because I feel like it has become a thing you must do. You love your -> insert husband, wife, boyfriend, or anyone you hold dear, hence you must celebrate the day. Bring in the flowers, the hearts (lord, I don’t like hearts), pink (so, so much pink)… 

I’m not into that.

I'm not much into any celebration that's not a birthday, actually, for the very same reasons. 

Stop telling me who I have to love/like/thank on any given day, please.

I do believe the utmost, brightest manifestation of the love I have for my husband is when I pick up his socks from around the house without giving him too much of a hard time for the offense. I mean, it’s not like socks are nice after they put in a solid day of work. Yet, stinky or not all alone balled up in a dark corner of the bedroom, I pick them up and put the in the (nearby) laundry basket. 

I know that he loves me when he realizes I need a moment to myself and he gives it to me. No fanfare, no discussions, no questions. He lets me be. 

I like little, quiet things that speak volumes. Small, shy gestures that reach someplace within where emotions wait. I don’t need to go out to dinner, I don’t need flowers exactly on that day, or surprises that are not really surprising. 

Don’t get me wrong, I like both.

Once he came home with one red flower. Only one. He said he’d seen it in a field on his way back home, thought about me, and got it because maybe I would have liked it. I did. A lot. To the point of sniffling away a few tears. It was not a celebration day of any kind, which meant he felt that. 

Another time he texted me the lyrics of Shotgun Rider by Tim McGraw, said he heard it on the radio and made it think about me, and us. 

Both times, and many others, his actions were random and instinctual, and honest.

Wait a second here.

Oh, look at that. Those are the reasons why I don’t care for St. Valentine’s: because I don’t feel it’s honest. It's so much in your face you must be bordering idiotic to forget. Come on. 

And isn't that easy? 

How about remembering you love someone while you're grocery shopping, and you buy kombucha because your loved one loves it? How about getting home with risque underwear on a Tuesday night, something you spent the lunch break to buy, and you give it to her while she's way over her head with screaming kids, and school stuff, and laundry, and she's all spat on by the baby. 

That being said, I have nothing against it. I’m very much okay with whatever simple thing makes people happy, and the world needs a lot of happiness right now. So go ahead, fill your house with pink, heart-shaped flowers. I’ll help you decorate if you need a hand. I really will.

But to me, I don’t care for it.