Rolling in Cashmere....no... CASHEWS
It's almost Valentines day again, and thank GOD it's on a Saturday. I am holing myself up in my house until all the pink and the reds just go away.
It's tasteless, really. This "holiday."
There's the frills and the garishly pink everything and the corny "I love you" puns using bears and honey and bees, and choo-choo trains on the one hand.
But on the other hand, (and this was brought to my attention by a comedy sketch group, so what the deal, rest of the world) do you REALLY know what you're celebrating every February the fourteenth?
Love? Pfft no.
Happiness? No.
Your evolutionary compulsion to pair up? Yeah, not so much.
It's Christian martyrdom.
Yeah, February the 14th is definitely when the poor saint guy died. As in, impaled, beheaded, burned, blood loss, decapitation, entrails galore.
Not something I'd like to get caught up in. Unless, of course, I was still in grade school, and Valentine's day served as a reverse Halloween in February.
And I won't get into corporate commercialism this year, but it's still their fault. This is despite the fact that these legends of love notes and amorous...amour...relating to this day and that Valentine guy originated from the Middle Ages, because let's be serious. Those guys thought bathing would wash away your soul, so I really can't say they're the arbiters of anything reasonable.
So, instead of getting your loved ones a heart shaped box of chocolates, try to spice things up a little and get them a piece of St. Valentine's heart, call it a relic, if you will. A stolen one, at that. "Oh look, honey I committed a malfeasance to prove my love for you. But we can't vacation in Rome this Christmas, if that's okay."
It's tasteless, really. This "holiday."
There's the frills and the garishly pink everything and the corny "I love you" puns using bears and honey and bees, and choo-choo trains on the one hand.
But on the other hand, (and this was brought to my attention by a comedy sketch group, so what the deal, rest of the world) do you REALLY know what you're celebrating every February the fourteenth?
Love? Pfft no.
Happiness? No.
Your evolutionary compulsion to pair up? Yeah, not so much.
It's Christian martyrdom.
Yeah, February the 14th is definitely when the poor saint guy died. As in, impaled, beheaded, burned, blood loss, decapitation, entrails galore.
Not something I'd like to get caught up in. Unless, of course, I was still in grade school, and Valentine's day served as a reverse Halloween in February.
And I won't get into corporate commercialism this year, but it's still their fault. This is despite the fact that these legends of love notes and amorous...amour...relating to this day and that Valentine guy originated from the Middle Ages, because let's be serious. Those guys thought bathing would wash away your soul, so I really can't say they're the arbiters of anything reasonable.
So, instead of getting your loved ones a heart shaped box of chocolates, try to spice things up a little and get them a piece of St. Valentine's heart, call it a relic, if you will. A stolen one, at that. "Oh look, honey I committed a malfeasance to prove my love for you. But we can't vacation in Rome this Christmas, if that's okay."