I feel obligated to write about Valentine’s Day. It is indeed a consumerist “holiday,” created for the materialistic, the needy, greedy and the gluttonous. However, it is February and I would be remiss if the “holiday” went ignored. I don’t want to rant about the materialism, well not for long, but what are we really celebrating?

When I think of V-Day, I think of the chocolates and the teddy bears and the cards and flowers getting delivered to the office and balloons and tacky boxers with glow in the dark hearts or suggestive phrases. I’ve loved before, believe it or not and I’ve even been loved. So, I also think of love when I think of Valentine’s Day, but only briefly because all the red, pink and purple are such a distraction, my mind wanders to childhood memories of the Care Bears and Rainbow Brite.

The pressure of Valentine’s Day is overwhelming. Despite the blinders that I have strategically placed on my eyes, I feel the pressures. One January afternoon I was accosted by the Valentine’s Day paraphernalia at the Naylor Road CVS. I nearly walked out in protest. Who’s actually buying V-Day gifts in January? Perhaps I’m cynical and single, which is not to say that singleness is a prerequisite for cynicism, but who wants chocolate that is a month old? Anyway, I’ve gone on too long and revealed far too much about how bitter I am about this so called holiday.

I know that Valentine’s Day is sacred and all hate, crime and war cease’s for the day, so that we can all enjoy the colors that are widely associated with little girls and Sweet Tarts. So in honor of St. Valentine, I’ll reveal my most lucid memory of Valentine’s Day. I don’t usually do hookups, but I trusted that a male associate was a good judge of character and I allowed him to hook me up with a friend of his.

The gentleman was rude to wait staff when we went out to eat on our first date and let the door close on me a number of times when we went out on a second. Besides an interest in movies, we had nothing in common. When I met this man, three years into my life in DC, I explained my anti-Valentine’s Day sentiments and he seemed receptive. We planned for a movie and Mocha Café, very non-V-day. Although he canceled, at the last minute, we rescheduled for the upcoming Friday.

We met at the Southern Avenue metro. He greeted me with chocolates, heart shaped candles, a Teddy Bear and a card. We had a great time. I have no idea where the candles are and the Teddy Bear is probably on a shelf at the Salvation Army. I can’t remember the movie that we saw. I can barely remember his name, he was history soon after our anti –V-day rendezvous, but I do recall the feeling I had. He held my hand as we approached the theater doors. He opened the door for me and allowed me to pass first. He helped me take off my coat in the theater and held my hand throughout the movie, until things got a little too clammy and I pulled my hand away. He carried my latte and sat next to me at the café and stared deeply into my eyes as we talked.

Although the only love in the café or in the movie theater were the other couples engrossed in one another, sprinkling Eskimo kisses over Macchiatos, we still were connected in that moment, on that day. We went out, once more, after Valentine’s Day. We haven’t emailed, texted or spoken since, and I am content with that, all is well in Southeast. Although I remain rather cynical, that experience softened me to Valentine’s Day. As Valentine’s Day 2008 approaches, I feel the same pressure as many people, but it is not because the chocolates may be sold out or even because I don’t have a date yet. It is simply because of the pressure (whose pressure, I don’t know), pressure to do what, I can’t put my finger on it. Until I have assessed the root of my anxiety, I’ll maintain my anti-V-day charade.