I want someone to get shot (by cupid)
Mike Marchand
Questionable Freedoms 2000
Wednesday is Valentine's Day. I'm already dreading it.
The other 11 1/2 months of the year, a dozen roses go for less than $20. Now I'll be lucky to find them for less than $30 and double or even triple that if I want them delivered. Then I have to buy a card. The real nice ones, gold-plated with fancy lettering and a really romantic poem inside, which can run up to six dollars. For one card. That's a lot more than the cards I usually get, which feature some crude cartoon and usually an even cruder joke involving some disgusting bodily function. But at least those are funny; good Valentine's Day cards aren't even funny at all.
And after I've purchased those, I need to get a heart-shaped box of candies, a stuffed teddy bear, a bottle of massage oil, some aromatic candles, some jewelry and a bottle of wine and then before I know it, I've got more gifts than I can hold and a maxed-out credit card.
But that's not the problem. The problem is I have no one to buy them for.
I wouldn't ordinarily care — I don't mind being single. I don't have time around classes and everything else I do to have a serious relationship and I don't have the money to buy nice things or go to dinner at anywhere more expensive than the dining hall. ("You want cheese on your Whopper?! I don't have that kind of money!")
But being alone on Valentine's Day is just unfair. Every other commercial on television has something to do with the holiday. Give these flowers to show how much you love someone. Buy this Hallmark card to show how much you love someone. Get this expensive necklace to show how much you love someone. If you don't love someone, buy stuff and maybe someone might love you.
I don't mind the barrage of commercialism; I love splurging and being romantic. Ask my last girlfriend. I bought her so many things I had to sell one of my kidneys. She had started a small teddy bear collection; I singlehandedly turned it into the Teddy Bear Smithsonian. She could have made a dress out of the petals from all of the roses I gave her. (Don't think that idea never crossed my mind.) I had to siphon gas to make it back to South Bend.
But when you're not seeing anyone, Valentine's gifts are a tad inappropriate. "Hi, I sit behind you in theology and, uh, here's some roses and some candies and — oh, here, look! Hallmark teddy bears that kiss magnetically! SMOOCH! You wanna go out with me tonight?" Meanwhile, her psycho radar is screaming red alert.
When you're single and don't want to be on Valentine's Day, it seems like everyone you know has somebody. My best friend is married. My ex is practically engaged. My twice-divorced father is living with someone. My sister has an Internet relationship. Even my dog has a "special friend." I swear Cupid is laughing at me behind my back. You think I'm joking? I got an e-mail from a female who said she wanted to get to know me. After I rifled off an interested response, she sent me an invitation to see her homepage at lookatmeiamnaked.com. "Ha ha, Mike, I'm shooting everyone else with my arrows of love. You get a knife in the back and a kick in the ..." Okay, so maybe that's a bit too over-the-top.
Everyone tells me that I shouldn't worry about long-term relationships right now. Of course they're right, but I can't help wondering. My high school could have been called "Children of ND/SMC Academy." Scott Little reported that 2/3 of all Notre Dame students marry other Domers. Perhaps that's an exaggeration, but obviously there's a stereotype.
Is it so wrong that I want my future special someone to be a fellow student? Someone who understands the mystique and beauty of the campus? Someone who knows how poor I'll be after graduation? Someone who knows that Saturdays in autumn are off-limits to extracurricular activities? My ex wanted me to skip the USC game in 1999 — which turned out to be a thrilling comeback victory — to come up and see her a day early. Then, after we broke up, she wanted me to blow the Nebraska game to go to her friend's wedding. Her father was an alumnus, so she should have known better than to even ask.
But one thing I do know is that nobody loves a whiner. Complaining is just so un-sexy. So what if I'll be the only person alone on The Big V-Day, or if I'm not, I'll feel like the only person alone? It means I don't have to buy big expensive gifts and I can save enough money to possibly ask someone for dinner at T.G.I. Friday's as opposed to Burger King. It means I can buy a lot of little gifts for a lot of special people. Cupid packs arrows. I'm toting a shotgun — I can hit a wider target.
Mike Marchand is an off-campus senior English major and a Cancer who enjoys candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach. He just wants to mention Nicole Rodgers because she didn't want him to. His e-mail address is Marchand.3@nd.edu.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Monday, February 12, 2001
