So, you’re in your 30s, you’re a straight woman, and you’re single. You’re out there looking for a nice, mature man, one who longs to put his hand on your knee under the bar on Saturday night and lay his head in your lap to watch HBO dramas on Sunday while soup bubbles on the stove. One who has a job and a healthy relationship with his mother. One with a cute butt.
Life is full of frightening transitions — adolescence, parenthood, those god-awful bifocals that morph into sunglasses when you’re outdoors — but perhaps the most overrated metamorphosis occurs when you ‘enter the real world.’
It’s embarrassing to be affected by this holiday. It’s embarrassing to even be writing this blog post and giving it more attention. Throughout the years, celebrating Valentine’s Day has become so lame in the eyes of the masses that even couples don’t celebrate it. It’s a joke, a symbol of consumerism rather than real love.
It looked something like this: we’d been in the city a few days already, and woken up early to head to our favorite café. We were sitting on the patio and my palm was resting on his leg while we read books and wrote and laughed. By noon we were tired, and ready to head back to the apartment we’d rented.