Instead of the rote routine, make Valentine’s a tradition, a secret memory for only two — one that actually means something. One that you’ll truly remember.
It’s time to face facts: Valentine’s Day is a scam.
I can’t think of anything more romantic than schlepping to a crowded Italian restaurant — along with literally everyone else in town — for an enforced date in the cold and gloom of *checks notes* mid-February.
On any other night of the year, a waiter will ask you, “What’s the occasion? Birthday? An anniversary? A celebration?” with a smile and an expectant nod.
On the Feast of Saint Valentine, however, you’re a number, not a name, on the factory floor of romance. It’s the 14th of February, so there you are: paying $100 for a bouquet of roses, $75 for the babysitter, $25 for the chocolates, and feeling hurried, harassed, and pressured in the bustle of industrialized amour. The tropes and traditions of Valentine’s Day are the sweatshop of tenderness, the assembly line of passion, the stockyards of desire. As an affair of the heart, this ain’t it.
Indeed, Eros is a jealous god, and he demands spontaneity and whimsy. Romance requires poiesis, melody, and rhyme — something that a fixed date on the calendar is ill-equipped to provide. The rhythms of love need poetic inception, as in the Song of Songs, when Solomon describes his beloved:
Behold, you are beautiful, my love,
behold, you are beautiful!
Your eyes are doves
behind your veil.
Your hair is like a flock of goats
leaping down the slopes of Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of shorn ewes
that have come up from the washing,
all of which bear twins.
Okay — bad example. My point is that love is jazz, not algebra. It’s a scavenger hunt, not an engineering problem.
Before you call me a curmudgeon, let me get to the heart of the matter: This year, let’s all step off this manufactured Valentine’s Day train, at least as it has traditionally been “celebrated.” Oh, sure, go on a date — but skip the fancy restaurant and the chocolates and the drugstore card.
Write your beloved a letter — a real letter, with paper and pen — asking her out. Take her for a long afternoon lunch. Pick a local favorite — the BBQ joint, the diner, the Vietnamese place where no one speaks English and you have to order by pointing at the menu. Then buy a bottle of wine at the corner store and walk down by the river and look at the owls. While the sun is still in the sky, see who can skip a rock the farthest. Give each other 15 minutes to see who can compose the silliest romantic sonnet. Then frame them and hang them in the house. Find a list of the 50 greatest classic movies. Watch one every year.
Make it a tradition, a secret memory for only two — but one that actually means something. One that you’ll truly remember.
Then, next week, take your girl to that fancy restaurant and beat the crowds. If you do it this way, you’ll actually have something to talk about.