Tuesday, 14 February 2012

You Were Always On My Mind

It's that one day of the year again when pretty much everyone in the western world is made to feel awkward....

This... this right here is exactly what is happening to the lovely Mr Ben and I...

Actually, I'm rather looking forward to my jar of hammers when I get home... less the removing of my hand from my face, however.

I am not in the least a super pro girly valentine kind of a gal, with the squealing and the wailing and the impossibly high expectations of the opposite sex's ability to read minds and have Hollywood ideals of what romance should be, which inevitably all end in crushing disappointment.

Nor am I the bleak cynical hater who waxes lyrical about the commercialisation of romance and how we're all saps for buying into the ridiculous charade. Why do we need one enforced day per year to express our feelings for another soul?

Well we don't.

Or at least, we shouldn't.

As offensive as it may seem and however much it may stick in your craw, perhaps we do. Perhaps we do need greetings card companies and wine makers, florists and chocolatiers and over-priced jewellers to treat us like idiot children and spoon feed us this mush...

Just think about it for a moment.

Do any of us actually take the time to tell the people we care about how much they mean to us? Do we tell them as much as we could? As much as we should?

As much as they need to hear it?

So what if we're reminded to express our feelings once a year by an industry with alterior motives. So what?

We could all do with a little more love in our lives... a little more kindness... a little less psuedo intellectual cynacism. Being intelligent doesn't mean sacrificing joy.

I'm not just talking about your spouse or your partner or your illicit lover, but your fellow man. The girl in the typing pool who always stocks up the biscuits. The man at No. 42 whose pristine automobile you admire every weekend as he's out there washing it. Everyone who you'd miss if they weren't around. Everyone who ever touched you. Everyone who holds a place in your heart, every hand you've reached out for. Everyone who makes the horrid drudge of daily life a little more bearable. Go hug them, smile at them, thank them, whatever - just let them know.

I'm not saying that you should rush out and buy your wife diamonds - but remember to tell her how much you love her, or that you still get a flutter when you watch her walk away... not because Hallmark told you to, but because you mean it... and you want her to know.

Yes, it's sad that this day has come to represent corporate greed and that any gesture or display of affection offered on this day is tinged with the bile of obligation - but if it weren't for this day, when would you next find the time to show someone how much you care?

If you are one of those people who tell those you love that you do so regularly, then good for you... you are one of the few people who can legitimately sit atop their high horse today and shout cynical anti capitalist diatribe at the rest of us as we panic and complain.

But for the rest of the population, go hug someone.

Lord knows we could all do with a little more human contact... just to remind us that the world does not have to be a bleak and unforgiving wasteland void of emotion and joy (even if you are too smart to fall for the commercial trickery).

Go rejoice in some love.

Cupid Pixie Out

PS. Awesome birthday last weekend - despite many of the group being ice bound - my friends and ever so wonderful boyfriend took the time to tell me that they loved me... by getting me drunk and buying me awesome presents :)

PPS. I had a dream last night about a baby hedgehog trying to have sex with my leg... it was very strange