Still celebrating Singles Awareness Day

I thought it might be fun to re-visit a blog I posted back in 2012.

2012! Yikes!

After all these years, I still come back to this ditty I penned about Valentine’s Day. It’s rare that a writer can look back on something written so long ago and not cringe. So I cherish this piece.

Valentine’s Day, 2012. Seven years ago. And here I am, (hopefully) embarking on a single mom by choice pregnancy.

So to those of you who didn’t know me back then, weren’t following my posts, or just plain missed out, I give you a re-post of that piece from the past (and now, present):

You’re probably expecting a bitter rant from me today; something along the lines of wanting to stab a fat cherub in the heart with his own stupid arrow. I’ll be honest, the thought did cross my mind, especially when I walked into Loblaws this morning to buy a salad for my lunch and my nose was assaulted by the overwhelming smell of roses. I couldn’t have swung cupid around by his golden locks without knocking over a bucket of flowers. Even the pre-cut fruit was packaged in a pink, heart-shaped plastic container. Seriously.

I bought my salad, succumbed to the desire to purchase an overpriced rose-shaped Toblerone (one of my favourites) and left my bitterness behind me in the store.

Ha. Yeah right.

Now comes the part where I could go on and on about the sad clichés of Valentine’s Day; I could talk about how it makes single people feel like shit (it can), or state the obvious extreme commercial aspect of it all. I could play the moral activist role and talk about how even from a young age, V-Day can be devastating and damaging – there’s always a kid in class who doesn’t get a Valentine in the paper bag taped to the front of his desk. This V(ile) day can cause heartbreak before you even hit puberty.

But alas, I have decided not to whine about all that is wrong with February 14th. And let’s be honest, I’ve seen this day from both sides. I’ve gotten the flowers, eaten the chocolates, given-in to the unnecessary frivolity of one day designed for love. I’ve also bought myself flowers, flipped cupid the bird, ignored it all together.

This year, I’m going to be glass-half full if it kills me. Sure, I may be single; I’m solo on this day designed for duos. But that has its upside. I’m choosing to concentrate on that.

Think of the money I’m saving. Guess who didn’t have to spend her hard-earned money on another watch, or a tie, or an expensive bottle of fancy-schmancy scotch. Me, that’s who.

Guess who’s going home to put on sweat pants and park her single ass on the couch, instead of rushing into the shower to shave my legs, pluck my eyebrows, paint my face, then run out the door to an over-priced dinner. Me.

My hormones and my vagina don’t know it’s Valentine’s Day, so if I’m not in the mood to have sex, no one will end up pouting – or faking it.

Have you ever left dying roses in a vase too long? I have. They stink something awful. I won’t have to deal with that in 6 days. I also don’t run the risk of a thorn sliver – seriously. They’re legit, and they hurt.

I didn’t spend three hours in Victoria’s Secret on the weekend, damaging my self-esteem, trying on every red and pink babydoll in sight, failing to find one that my tits actually fit into while also concealing the muffin-top that rises after you turn twenty-five. I’m wearing flannels to bed tonight.

I don’t have to wait an hour for a table to eat tonight. I don’t have to cook for anyone if I don’t want to. I can eat cereal for dinner. I don’t have to share the remote. I can hog the covers in bed. The only farts I’ll smell are my own. No one will judge me if I eat from a bag of Chipits. No one’s snoring will keep me awake.

I can do anything I want. I can go anywhere I want. I have no one to answer to.

One day this won’t be the case. One day I’ll put someone else before me, I’ll think of myself second. One day again I’ll shell out $6.99 on a greeting card, I’ll make someone their favourite dinner even though I’m tired, I’ll have to share the covers and the TV. I’ll have to fold twice as much laundry, I’ll have to check in when I’m going to be late.

One day I’ll miss these days, the days when I had no one to worry about but myself. So I’ll try to remember to treasure them, see the silver lining in them, and enjoy them.

No matter what the calendar says.