So… today is Valentine’s Day.

A day when love is in the air, P.D.A.’s (public displays of affection) are at an all-time high, and Cupid is spending its’ last frantic moments shooting arrows at any sap who’s not afraid to say ‘futile’ with a handful of last minute, gas-station roses.

Today is the day when anorexic women will get boxes of chocolate, (What part of ‘eating’ and ‘disorder’ don’t you understand?) the desperately un-engaged will get boxes of earrings, (Are you freakin’ kidding me? What part of ‘diamond’ and ‘ring’ don’t you understand?) and the rest of us will pull out boxes of Valentine’s Day memorabilia so we can sit around in our pajamas and reminisce about the pitfalls of this hyped-up Hallmark holiday.

How am I doing so far?

It’s not that I want to be bitter. And it’s not that I don’t have a box full of heartwarming Valentine memories. In fact, I had a memorable Valentine’s Day experience ten years ago when I presented a boyfriend with a dazzling piece of jewelry and he presented me with a dazzling piece of bullpucky on why he couldn’t stop bumping uglies with his now-knocked-up ex-girlfriend. Ahhh… those are the V.D. memories that forever live in your heart.

So, what am I doing this Valentine’s Day? Well, my husband works as a waiter in a fine-dining establishment so he’ll be serving lobster and champagne to all those PDA couples who are naïve enough to believe that shellfish and diamonds are a requirement for everlasting love. And me, I’ll probably be sitting at home with the kids eating bowls of mac n’ cheese topped with red pepper sprinkles and ketchup painted hearts. (What part of ‘poor’ and ‘me’ don’t you understand?)

I know, I sound utterly pathetic. Unloved. Desperately hard done by. Truth is my husband has never been a Hallmark holiday man. That being said, not a week goes by when he doesn’t make me a nice dinner, or bring me home flowers, or fold endless loads of laundry. (Without even a bodily threat!) For that I am eternally grateful! But mention the words ‘Valentine’s Day’ and ‘could you?’ and he’s off like a stampeding turtle.

And you know what? I don’t blame him. It’s far too much pressure. In fact, it’s too much pressure for all of you guys out there. I mean, what’s with… ‘a diamond is forever’? Heck, herpes is forever. Does that make it an appropriate gift?

Last week my ten-year-old son asked if he could buy a CD for Valentine’s Day for a friend who ‘just happens’ to be a girl.

“Sheesh Mom… okay! So she’s maybe, kinda, sorta my girlfriend. Holy! Do you have to make such a big deal about it?”

“She’s maybe, kinda, sorta your girlfriend, but you want to buy her a CD? Don’t you think that’s a bit much for a maybe, kinda, sorta, kinda girl?” I swallow hard and white-knuckle the steering wheel. Last I checked he was ten-years-old. Could this really be starting now?

“Well, she got me something that cost like, twenty dollars. I have to get her something nice.”

“She told you she bought you a gift for twenty dollars?”

“Yaaaah, but she told me not to get her anything.”

“Ahuh.”

My head starts to buzz. My blood pressure’s spiking. Never mind the three-month-salary, engagement-ring, propaganda. We’re now talking three-month-allowance, Nelly-Furtado-CD, propaganda

“How do you know she wants a Furtado CD?” I ask suspiciously.

He gives me an impatient stare. “Ahhh, because she told me?”

“But she told you not to get her anything?”

“Ahuh.”

I look at his sweet, innocent face in the rear-view mirror and it feels like my heart just might break.

If it walks like a duck and it talks like a duck, it’s got to be a…?

It’s the Valentine’s Day guilt charade.