So, Valentines Day is coming. If you were unaware of this fact, you must literally be living under a rock. A rock in a very remote location. Or, I suppose, anywhere outside the US.
Within the states, however, the day after February 13th is pink, frilly, and rose-scented -- traditionally, that is. The usual gifts for your loved ones include monstrously overpriced bouquets, dinners in dimly lit restaurants requiring reservations 2 months in advance (for the men who have women as assistants or secretaries who are on top of these things), teddy bears holding hearts with cheesy sayings like "I love you beary much" and, of course, copious amounts of chocolate. For the seriously committed or the seriously wealthy, jewelry of some kind is always the best option. Scratch that. Men, you don't have to be seriously committed or seriously wealthy. You just have to be wooing a woman for jewelry to be the best option. Women really like showing off shiny prizes to their friends on February 15th.
To add more strokes to the picture and paint it better for you, "the question" is popped with a ring in champagne. Rose petals adorn hotel rooms while the babysitter is home with the kids. The man tries his hand at making dinner for his lovely woman. One hundred paper hearts are plastered all over a high school girl's room.
These gifts are to be expected. These paint a normal Valentine's Day.
What happened to those days?
Commercialization has had its hand in all holidays from essentially the beginning of each (perhaps not the actual event upon which the holiday is founded, but in the celebration of it; for instance, baby Jesus wouldn't even be born in a commercial place, but now his humble birth scene in historically inaccurate mangers has been commercialized more than any other Judeo-Christain holiday). The world is supposedly trying to help us truly celebrate holidays with heart-shaped donuts and Toy Story 3 Valentines -- because that's what Valentine's Day is, right? Sure, I was just as attached to those paper decorations we made in elementary school as any other kid because V-Day and Christmas were the only holidays that the teacher dared use glitter for. Yet, as I was driving on a very long car ride last week, I heard very disheartening commercials. Pun intended.
Over the years, weird gifts have started to rise from the creepy corners of people's affections. Naming a star after your Valentine definitely falls under this category. These obviously cater to a healthy or overly reproductive population because the advertisements reappear every year. Luckily, there are not enough astronomy-inclined lovers to ruin society, and there will always be an inexhaustible selection of burning balls of gas to satiate their yearning affections. Because there are few who would venture to this length of naming the infinities and beyond "Claire" and "Sarah".
Then I heard commercials for cell phones. Yes, because I want my man to give me a cell phone to say "I love us." Good heavens, you may as well name a star after me because it will mean about as much. Despite my cringing, however, cell phone sales will most likely increase. Apparently there are those among us who think giving a cell phone to their valentine means, "I love communicating with you; let's do it more often and this phone had the best ringtone selection." And the cellphone is probably reciprocated with, "Oh, and here you go, I got you a netflix account because I love watching movies with you and now we have a wider variety at our disposal."
Get real, folks. February 14th is not the day to compensate for failed December 25th gifts. But, whatever. I can live with this group of mobile telephone givers. What I cannot live with, however, appeared on a blog I follow. It falls among the worst possible gifts I can imagine getting from anyone trying to show the slightest affection for me. Brace yourselves, I will tell you what it is:
Name a cockroach after your lover at the Bronx Zoo.
Are you kidding me? Please, tell me you are kidding. No, they are not. There's even a video on the site.
I simply cannot imagine there are enough people out there who would jump at this opportunity as an honest gift. It's just... weird. And gross. And any and all synonyms to those two adjectives. What worries me, however, is that many people will say, "hey, wouldn't it be funny if I show up at dinner with a certificate and picture of 'her' new cockroach? Then when I have had a laugh, I will pull out the roses and gigantic diamond ring and propose marriage." I sincerely hope this doesn't happen, and for more reasons than I hope people do not use "propose marriage" as a phrase in their imaginations. I appeal to the hopefully overwhelming majority of the population out there to avoid the temptation to "gag gift" this. Please, do not encourage the people who name cockroaches after their lovers to say "I love you, schnookums." This should be a dud fad. Really.
Let's draw the line. Right there, between buying cellphones and naming cockroaches after lovers.
A big, fat line.
A line, that, if crossed, results in immediate societal shunning on a massive scale.
Let's convince the Bronx Zoo to make penguin t-shirts or keep up the stuffed tigers that sing "Wild Thing" so they will never again cross the BIG FAT LINE.
I like your brain.
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