I am not a big fan of Valentine’s Day. It’s not because I hate love or hate commercialism. One fuels our hearts, the other fuels our
economy, and it’s hard to imagine our modern world without either of them.
I hate Valentine’s Day because it creates unrealistic
expectations about what love looks like.
This unholiest of holidays perpetuates the myth that romantic love is
forever sparkling with excitement.
Valentine’s love is polished and perfectly adorned. Valentine’s love is all flowers, candy,
jewelry, and the implied promise of passionate sex.
Chances are, if you’ve been with your romantic partner
for more than a year or if you live with the love of your life, that’s just not
what love looks like. Sure, a romantic
evening with fine food and flowers is nice, but that’s not what real love looks
like. Real love is going home at the end
of that fancy dinner, going to bed with your lover, and being serenaded by the
sounds of fancy-food flatulence as you both drift off into a food coma. Real love is looking at your farting partner
and not banishing him/her to the other room and resisting the urge to stab
him/her in the eye for polluting the air of your love den. Real love is holding your breath while
spooning your partner amidst the methane cloud.
Real love is accepting the mundaneness of a long-term
relationship. Real love is accepting
that your partner is a gross, imperfect human being and loving him/her anyway.
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| Card borrowed from theoatmeal.com |
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