Buying Valentines Cards.

I should like this yearly ritual, right? The chance to show E my feelings, on paper, there for all to see. If they came into our house and read the cards, that is. A symbol of the depths of my feelings for him, right?

So very wrong.

I should take some Gravol before I go card-shoping, because the sentiments expressed in the cards tend to make me bilious. Even seeing that wall of red-and-pink madness makes my blood pressure rise. I don’t like it. It makes me uncomfortable and irritable, like wearing a wool sweater that’s a little too small, or knowing I could have done better on a test if I’d studied more. Squirmy. That’s it. The cards make me squirmy.

There’s too much flowing script, for one thing. And a lot of it’s pink and says things like, “Until there was you, I didn’t know the meaning of true happiness.” Hello, Codependent Relationship! I would NOT want to date the person giving a card like that. The giver of that card calls their husband Hubbie and calls him seven times a day “To see if you’re thinking about me.” Erm, no. He’s at work, honey.

For another, the poetry is deeply awful. I’d prefer Wordsworth, and that’s saying something. There’s never anything resembling a clever rhyme scheme, and the meter is invariably bumpy, so that the writer can fit in gems like: “Loving you means so much to me/Your face is in my dreams nightly.” Now, I did date a guy who used to buy rhyming cards (And underline the parts he REALLY meant with red pen and a ruler), but everybody makes mistakes, right?

The designs on the cards themselves are heavily involved in hearts and flowers and the blue bird of happiness, except for the ‘risque’ ones that mention S-E-X, and have cartoons on them.The cartoons usually have fat men waggling their eyebrows. It’s not sexy and it’s not funny, it’s just creepy. Most cards are pastel-coloured, or have lace and glitter on them. Is there some preschool sweatshop where little kids are being forced to glue glitter to cards for six cents an hour? It wouldn’t surprise me.

The problem is, none of these cards accurately reflect my relationship, which consists largely of fart jokes and arguing about who has to have the first shower. If the blue bird of happiness ever came to our house, it would probably just poop on things.

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