How Valentine's Day Can Be More of a Holiday for the Rest of Us

Sometime last week, I had this craving in the middle of the night. It wasn't a very good craving, but it was strong enough to get me out of bed, throw on layers of clothes and make the trip to the 24-hour grocery store for some late-night munchies on one of the coldest nights of the year.

Well, I should have fought the urge. Not just because I don't need any extra grams of fat for the love handles, but because I forgot the horror that lurkes on display this time of year.

As soon as I entered the store, I was blinded by a sea of pink and white happiness.

Maybe it was because it was the middle of the night and I wasn't thinking straight and ended up in that dreaded aisle. There had to have been a higher being pulling me in. Perhaps it was Cupid, the half-naked man without an ounce of decency or sympathy visiting Chicago.

Wandering through the aisles, I began picking up random cards for every type of relationship statement to be made: "You're the one!" "You're the man of my dreams!" and "Thank God I finally found you!"

The greeting card industry has its own ideas on ways to ruin your day. You go to the drug store for conditioner and toothpaste and you end up coming out with kiss-kiss bears.

A suggestion to Hallmark for next year's holiday: Have your writers think of updated love scenarios such as: "Hey! Hello! What happened? You never called. Do you even like me? Yes? No?" and "Well, you're the guy I broke up with twice, you give me the creeps, but you're always around, so I don't know, um...wanna hang out?," and "Hey...you're on my Myspace friends list and live less than 50 miles away from me..."

Feb. 14 makes me want to want to tell someone I care about them. And I don't. Nobody in my life should be that special. Except maybe myself of course.

OK, fine, hypothetically speaking, let's say I do care. Now I need to search through the sea of Pepto-Bismol pink I'm greeted with at CVS to find a card that says something along the lines of, "We're miles away and you keep promising to move here to be closer to me...still hasn't happened...it's been three years...should we even continue this?"

And don't even get me started on Conversation Hearts. I hate they way they taste, I hate their pastel colors and I hate their messages: "Be mine," "You're sweet" and "I like you."

What about a bag of "Stop calling me!" or "Now that's what I'm talking about" or "Get your ass over here"?

Bah, Valentine's Day. Who can trust such a holiday?

It increases the nation's suicide rates, it makes us consume mass amounts of liquor and the stress and debt takes a good five years off your life.

Whether you're single this year or not, it doesn't matter. No matter what you do, you still lose. Couples lose money, singles lose dignity.

Love doesn't come in a heart-shaped box of chocolates. It doesn't come with a furry teddy bear holding up a felt sign saying "I love you beary much."

No. It comes in a mint-green box from Tiffany's with a shimmering giant 14-carat gold ring and a...

Oh, oops. I must have been thinking out loud again.