This week's WAVE: Boyleing Points

Cold, Cold Heart

By Kevin Boyle

Back in the days of the little red schoolhouse, kids would draw hearts on construction paper and bring home the valentine’s for mom. Sometimes, darling son that I was, I would search in between couch cushions and under the car seat to gather enough coins to afford a box of chocolates for my sweetheart mom. I’d buy chocolate covered cherries from Russell Stover. Little did I know, she hated them.

She only confessed to this recently. She says I gave her the same candies year after year after year. And she still makes a face, like she’s disgusted by the thought of the chocolate covered cherries. You believe this, lady? Cold. She’s cold.

As much as she hated them, she’s half a hoarder so she might still have them. She says it was the thought that counts, so, yes, I’m afraid to say, she might still have those Russell Stovers from when LBJ was president.

All’s fair I guess. She didn’t like my chocolate covered cherries; I didn’t like her pork chops.

Of course, I wouldn’t have bought the chocolate cherries and disgusted Helen in the first place if I wasn’t a victim of a marketing campaign. Somebody figured out that February is a lousy month, that’s why they made it short. Somebody else figured it’d be a good time to make a buck, that’s why Valentine’s Day was created. It’s a fake holiday.

But it’s also mean. The message is, you don’t have a sweetheart? What’s wrong with you?

There should be some backlash. Selfesteem isn’t just for school kids.

I mean, if you’re single you’re bombarded with commercials and other reminders that …well, you’re single. You poor thing. What a load of crap.

If you’re married, it’s not any better. You spend the whole year fighting about the kids, money or the toilet seat being left up. And then all of a sudden, Valentine’s Day shows up. So, at least according to TV, you’re supposed to run to Kings Plaza and the Macy’s jewelry department. Or there’s that other place, Jared. I don’t even know if it’s a place, I’m just told that if I really care, I have to shop there.

Couples have their gripes, their ebbs, their flows. All is fine. But then the red hearts start popping everywhere. Sheesh.

Above all, Valentine’s Day is a marriage rhythm killer.

Well, I’m not giving in. I don’t know if I’m more lazy, cheap or unsentimental — or maybe I’m just scarred from the truth of how those chocolate covered candies were received. But I’m not giving in. I’m not buying a damn thing.

Now I’m just wondering if my honey of a wife will agree when I say, every day is Valentine’s Day. Hmmm... what’s the number of the florist?