It strikes me that there are certain things that grown women do that are better suited to teenagers. Things like read silly vampire books, wear skinny jeans, and over-inflate the worth of Valentine’s Day.
Why do grown women do these silly, teenager-y things? Probably to recapture some lost sense of youth. Perhaps the passing years have done to their girlish spirits what gravity has done to their girlish figures. Years of dealing with a harsh, cold world with little regard for the human heart can really grind a person down.
Perhaps their relationships are deeply unfulfilling. We have all sorts of fanciful notions about life and love when we are achingly young. Especially if life and love treats us kindly when we are young. If you have a sweet and passionate love affair while in the throes of adolescence, then the every-day realities of grown-up love can seem to pale in comparison to the unicorns and cloud-castles of first love. There was a reason Romeo and Juliet were teenagers.
Valentine’s Day may be the only time of the year when matrons feel like maidens once again. If women are partnered, sadly, with men who ignore them or worse, Valentine’s may be the only day on which they can be assured of their husbands’ attentions and affections. One single day that reminds them of first love and possibilities, of shoe boxes filled with cards and chalky candy hearts, of steamed-up car windows and the fear-thrill of maybe being caught.
My son (age 7) loves Valentine’s Day! Everyone in class decorates bags and then gets cards and treats from every single other child in their class. No exceptions, no one left out. I heartily approve of this because when I went to school, it was strictly law of the jungle, babe.
Back in my day, teachers and administrators seemed reluctant to intervene in the kid pecking order. Given enough time, and sufficient lack of supervision, recess would devolve into a mini-Lord of the Flies-scenario. For me, Valentine’s Day was only one more reminder of just how unpopular I was. Other girls’ shoeboxes would be so full the lids would not quite close. My paltry take would rattle around in the bottom and many of them bore messages clearly indicating the sender was being forced to give me said valentine.
Then, when I was a little older, one of my aunts told me that her sons (my cousins) had a habit of breaking up with girlfriends before Valentine’s Day so they wouldn’t have to buy gifts. This reinforced my impression of V-Day, that it is just a manufactured holiday designed to force displays of affection, even if they are feigned.
The media and Hollywood have convinced us that we need these cheap, manufactured gestures to prove that we are loved. Silly me, I always thought that simple consideration for each other and every day affirmations of our feelings for one another prove that we are loved. Nothing says “I love you” like saying “I love you.”
To the poor women out there who hold out for that one day a year when he’ll finally have to look at you instead of the game, take you out to dinner instead of being ungrateful for every meal you make, and spend time with you instead of with his whatever-buddies, you deserve more.
To all the men out there who would rather do anything else than spend time with their wives, rather hang out with fishing-buddies or poker-buddies as opposed to their girlfriends, or begrudge the women in their lives this one day of consideration, shame on you. Seriously, who do you think is going to take care of you if you, say, have a stroke. Do you think your poker-buddies are going to spoon-feed you or wipe your butt? No, if something life-changing should befall you, they will shake their heads, say “did you hear about poor Jim?” and thank their lucky stars they aren’t you.
You know those awful, insipid “chick flicks” she drags you to? She’s trying to show you the kind of romantic behavior she would appreciate from you. And I guarantee that if you pay attention to her everyday, actually say the words “I love you” to her everyday, make tiny gestures of affection everyday, and exhibit actual (not feigned) interest in her life, you won’t ever be dragged to another chick flick.
Personally, I don’t like movies about “romance”, I prefer movies about relationships, human contact, because it is that human contact that fuels us. We need human contact as much as we need food, water, or air. Without it, we die.
Mr. Prairie is very good at the day-to-day maintenance of love. Not a day goes by without an affirmation that he loves me and that I am beautiful. And yesterday, while I was at work, he thoroughly cleaned the kitchen. That man will never have to see a “chick flick” he doesn’t want to see, ever.
It’s not entirely some kind of big favor on my part. When given the choice, I rarely choose the chick flick, I’ll usually go with the sci-fi, the super-hero, or the gothic horror.
Not that we go to a lot of grown-up movies. Getting someone to watch both our kids at the same time is a bit of a production. My parents will do so occasionally but I don’t want to go to that well too often. So while we won’t be going out to the movies this weekend, I know which one I’d being seeing if we were: Wolfman.
You can keep your sparkly vampires, werewolves are awesome!
well said.