Do you remember the Valentine cards that we sent in grammar school (I mean before the packaged ones)? I can still feel the texture of the paper lace doilies on red construction paper hearts with enough white paste to reconstruct the horse it came from. You made one for your Mom and you made little ones for your entire class. At dinner we always had heart shaped cookies with thick pink icing that my Mom got at the Ho-ho-kus Bakery. After you washed a few of those down with an ice cold glass of milk, life was all good.

Ah, the simple days: no outcries of forcing religion on unsuspecting eight year old cynics, no law suits about the effects of eating your weight in paste, no ingredients written on boxes of candy. Just Valentine’s Day, a day to remember to say I love you to family and friends. And maybe, just maybe, like TV’s Our Gang hero Spanky, Darlene would kiss you on the cheek and you would faint.

But then the insidious monster of consumerism rose it’s demon head and sending cards was trumped by what I ’should’ be getting. Varily, my entire value as a human being was summed up and judged by what I received and who gave it to me. Valentine’s Day became a competitive game and day of shame. I became Charlie Brown terrified of an empty mailbox…proof that I was, dread of dreads, wishy-washy.

Then finally somewhere between my childhood innocent giggles and my second impending divorce it occurred to me, albeit slowly, that I’d been conned. I’d been told in magazines and movies to seek out someone romantic, not someone stable…talk about a strategic error!

I was led to believe that the more roses, chocolates and diamonds a fella could muster the more he could cut the mustard. I know it is surprising that an otherwise savvy business woman would be so slow on the uptake. But I am here to testify that after my fill of champagne, yachts and vacations (ur, research) I can safely assess there is no correlation between a show of opulence and a would-be-suitor’s ability to make it through the richer or poorer, sickness and health, foregoing all others, better or worse ‘yadda yadda’ parts of life.

CURSE YOU CUPID, god of Rome. CURSE YOU VENUS goddess of Greece (and celebu-mythical-creature for Frankie Avalon’s hit song). All that conjured romantic antics prove is that a man can read Joe the Bartender’s advice in ‘Men’s Health’. Who knew? Well, I mean besides the men.

In all fairness to the weaker and moodier sex…you guys have been equally duped. Just because a woman can find her way to the beauty shop, nail salon and spritz on perfume that is $200 an ounce (all targeted at your animalistic reptilian brain), does not mean she will make a wonderful cook, mother or spouse. It means she was read to from Cosmo while in the womb. A woman who looks classy is (duh!) expensive to keep. Any woman I have ever met, including Dr. Ruth, can look like a fashion plate if she has the cover girl’s 2 secret weapons: airbrushed photos and $50,000 a month to spend on getting gussied up (ala the Hasty Pudding troupe and Uncle Milty). And here’s a BONUS tip gents: It is a widely known fact that a woman’s ability for monogamy is not related to her mammaries. In other words, they might be WD40s but they may as easily slip outta your hands.

So what’s a romantic-at-heart to do?

Remember love is not sex and sex without love tastes like paste without the flavor(okay, eventually). Getting the edge off is not the same thing as living on the edge of joy. Life long commitment only seems long if you don’t like yourself.

Eat chocolate, watch good movies and laugh with friends. If romance leads to more I hope it’s with someone who values your worth as a human being and thinks you are the best thing since freshly made sliced bread with rapsberry jam.

And, oh yeah, if you can’t think of what to get the person you say you love, then you haven’t been listening or observing them–which is not very loving. So, start real love now. Think of what makes them smile, laugh or giggle. Do more of that.

And if you are single give your self lots of what makes YOU laugh and giggle. Remember we are to love others as we love ourselves.

Here’s to you Saint Valentine, may true love of others and compassion be our calling. Pass the red hots.

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