Valentine's Day reflection

I walked through the automated doorway and immediately regretted it. While everyone else was home primping for a date, here I was, alone in the grocery store. There was no one perusing produce. No one considering bottles of wine. The aisles were just too empty. It felt a lot like being in a graveyard—not a peaceful kind of calm. Why, I thought, had I gone somewhere that would be such a reminder of my currently being alone?

But earlier in the day I'd been thinking about Valentine's Day a bit, and I can't say I mind spending it on my own. Sure, it can be a lot of fun, but there's a pressure some people put on it that I think is a bit insane. I had a co-worker once who seemed very happily married until the day after Valentine's, when she stormed into the office with a red face and huddled in her cube. At lunch, one of us got the nerve to ask her what the problem was, and she blew up then, venting such a story it took everything in us to hold our mouths closed and bite our tongues. The night had gone down like this: She'd gone home from work and gotten a nice outfit on. He'd come home, asked if he could give her her present. She chided him, insisting that they stick to the plan: go to dinner with her brother and sister-in-law, share gifts all together then. Her husband pleaded; couldn't they have some privacy for the gift-giving; the wife insisted, no no no. At dinner, he was the last to hand out a present. She was beaming; she knew what it would be; she'd instructed him. She couldn't wait to put on the earrings. She couldn't wait to see how they glinted under the light. She beamed at him, but he hesitated, so she had to throw those daggers at him with her eyes that she thought she'd trained him not to require. He tried further to delay—"But honey, I only have half your gift." She didn't care; this was the good half, she knew. He would not have dared show up to this dinner with her family without the diamonds. Her eyes pressed into him; he had no choice. He handed over a bag. It was too big for a jewelry box, but he was a man, what did he know about wrapping? She dug into it; she put her hand in the bag and what did she feel but something an awful lot like his thing, except rubber, and larger, and so horrifying she had to pull it out of the gift bag, right there in public, in front of her family, and let the tears stream down her face as he explained it was a good thing, it would make their nighttimes more fun, it would help them have a reason to move their baby girl into her own room. He smiled helplessly, trying to explain that the earrings weren't ready yet; he'd be able to pick them up in a week. He smiled helplessly, not really understanding why she was crying, and all she could do was hold the dildo there in public and hate him.

Now I can't say there's much of anything about how to run one's life or marriage that I saw eye to eye with her about. I think her marriage was a mess because she had such ludicrous expectations for it. But I think the industry that is Valentine's Day, much like the industry that is weddings and engagements and diamonds, has helped to keep such antiquated approaches to love in place, and it's the suffering I've seen come out of the day that makes me grateful to get all my Valentine's lovin from within.

Remembering that, I had a renewed optimism as I picked an avocado from the stack and looked up to avoid bumping into someone. He was tall and red-headed and freckled in a good way, and I said excuse me and turned my head to get the full look. In the next aisle, there was another one; crew neck sweater over a t-shirt, jeans topping a pair of casual shoes; he was in his relaxing clothes, not heading anywhere after the grocery store but home to his tv and sofa. When I noticed the third one, I realized it: I should've put makeup on; I should've done my hair. Where better to be on Valentine's Day than a grocery store because there's no doubting that every last one of us in there was single and available and maybe even looking. It was a hunting ground. It was a revelation. Next year, I'll be prepared.