Sometime when I wasn’t looking, Valentine’s Day metamorphosed from a C-list kids’ holiday, with pink and red candy and construction-paper hearts, into an extravaganza. The regular-person equivalent of Oscar Night, but instead of Best Picture or Best Supporting Actress, prizes are given for Best Achievement in the Acquisition of a Leading Man.
But what if you don’t have a new pet “project” to promote or arm candy to show off? Better stay home rather than remind everyone that you couldn’t land the role of girlfriend, even for one night. Cause being single is cause for as much mortification as a bad dress on the red carpet.Well, at least in our own minds.
Though some singles have to endure commentary from family and friends of the when-are-you-going-to-settle-down variety, our harshest critics are ourselves: If only I was thinner/had bigger boobs/smaller thighs/got Botox/bought $400 shoes/had slept with him/hadn’t slept with him, I wouldn’t be single.
But in fact, there are many worse things than going solo on February 14th. Like a couple of years ago when I had a blind date on Valentine’s Day. The guy ranted the whole night about taxes (romantic, huh?), except when he interrupted himself to correct me when I asked for chopsticks in a Thai restaurant. “Thais don’t use chopsticks,” he informed me, oozing condescension. “Um, we’re not in Thailand,” I retorted. (I didn’t actually retort, but I did think it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until about 20 minutes later.)
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