I'm confident in my conspiratorial mind that Valentine's Day was made up by someone in Minnesota to coax hugs from their friends just to stay warm and/or feel better about themselves while staring at snowbanks that refuse to melt. Or by Hallmark, to get them through until Mother's Day without having to layoff cardmakers.
When I was a kid, I hated it. (scared of girls) When I was a teenager, I dreaded it. (acne, and still a little bit scared of girls) When I was finally courageous enough to be dating, I tolerated it, and now that I'm married, I completely ignore it and/or make fun of it every year. Thankfully, I married the perfect woman and I'm keeping her forever, because she also happens to find this particular holiday to be overly commercialized tripe. (Right, honey? Honey?)
Ah, silent agreement, my old friend.
This year, my Valentine's Day - or as I like to call it, February 14th - will be spent trying desperately not to catch Strep from my home-from-school-until-Wednesday, penicillin avoidant Boy. We have lots of stimulating activities planned, the majority of them involving the remote.
And, because his current Phineas and Ferb episode is only 25 minutes long, I'll keep this short.