Saint Valentine may have been a cool guy, but I sure hate his holiday.
I'm considering a solo adventure to the mall tomorrow to hopefully remedy the dire drabness of my wardrobe, and as I hate driving I thought I'd try to convince my mother she needed things and should come along on her day off. A convincing argument is a sale at Bath&Body Works so I pulled the website and discovered they have divided their fragrance lines into four categories -
the Sexys
the Romantics
the Cuddlers
the Freshes
- which I immediately took offense to. The cutesy divisions ring of partnership (maybe it's the Cuddlers that sparked my apoplectic rage), especially when paired with this particular week in February.
I've been trying to be good about Valentine's this year, but commercially-generated though it may be and as content as I am to be single, sometimes it just hurts. It's a splashy pink-and-red reminder of an aspect of life at which I have failed profoundly, and I hate failure in myself. As happy as I am with quiet time it's tiring sometimes to be the third or fifth wheel. It's been ten years of being superfluous in paired friendships, and that's the last I'll type about the occasional aching frustration of being alone, for a while.
the Sexys
the Romantics
the Cuddlers
the Freshes
- which I immediately took offense to. The cutesy divisions ring of partnership (maybe it's the Cuddlers that sparked my apoplectic rage), especially when paired with this particular week in February.
I've been trying to be good about Valentine's this year, but commercially-generated though it may be and as content as I am to be single, sometimes it just hurts. It's a splashy pink-and-red reminder of an aspect of life at which I have failed profoundly, and I hate failure in myself. As happy as I am with quiet time it's tiring sometimes to be the third or fifth wheel. It's been ten years of being superfluous in paired friendships, and that's the last I'll type about the occasional aching frustration of being alone, for a while.