It's (almost) that time of year

Valentine's Day came up over lunch with some colleagues the other day. Someone was saying she'd considered visiting friends over the long weekend in February, but realized VD fell on that weekend and thought her friends might have Other Plans. She added that she'd brought up VD with another friend, who commented on the cruel nature of the "holiday"--'let's have a day for making single people feel like crap. I mean, would anyone think to have a day to celebrate the tall and thin?'

Now, I've been celebrating Anti-Valentine's Day (AVD) for so many years now that I've stopped caring. Really. Especially with all these studies coming out about how couplehood is a raw deal for women in terms of finances, career, housework, and staying fit. No wonder you need a holiday to make those people feel good about themselves.

And yet... couplism is alive and well. Every time I start balking at having this party--because, let's face it, my parties are fabulous, and fabulous parties don't throw themselves--it's not long before I remember why I started doing it in the first place. Just yesterday, someone in the coffee room at work was talking about it (particularly in reference to how her parents had wanted to stick her in a small room with no door on it so their granddaughter, who was bringing a boyfriend, could have the guest bedroom--she countered that she was an adult who preferred a real room, and would stay in a hotel). It reminded me of the chapter in Susan Jane Gilman's "Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress" in which the author's recently divorced mother was dining solo at a restaurant, and a couple at a nearby table placed their dirty dishes on her table, saying she wasn't using the extra space. (On her way out, she replaced them, and her own, onto their table. While Miss Manners would never countenance fighting rudeness with rudeness, I say hat's off).

Earlier, in the same coffee room, someone who had heard that I'd be traveling next week, for work, told me that that place boasted a beautiful sunset, urged me to watch it. I replied that I never missed the sunset when I had the chance (it's a "Little Prince" thing). It reminded me of a business trip years ago when I'd told colleagues I'd met for dinner that I'd just watched the sunset. One of them asked me whether the couples thought I was crazy--this single person watching the sunset. What a concept--since when do couples own sunsets?

I could go on... we could talk about 'Sex and the City.' We could talk about RM, wonder whether his behavior would have been as egregious had he not had preconceptions about singlehood. After all, he did regularly, upon hearing that I'd spend time with friends, say, 'well, at least you had some companionship.'

Which brings us back to the whole AVD concept: it's really an anti-smugness movement. I'm not going to try to tell you that I never get lonely, but who can really say that? Some of the loneliest people out there are married. What I am telling you is that I don't need your f*ing sympathy, and that you needn't assume that your coupled lifestyle is superior to mine. Have your Hallmark holiday, gorge on cheap chocolate, take comfort in empty, pre-packaged gestures--or have a genuinely good evening with good chocolate and meaningful conversation, but you people are less likely to go all smug on the rest of us, so you're not the direct addressee of this paragraph. In any case, you needn't feel bad for me: I have the best friends in the world, and being single hasn't stopped me from doing the things I love (watching sunsets, watching sunsets all over the world, etc.).

So even though I'll be exhausted and jet-lagged on AVD, the spirit lives on. And so the party goes on.