Valentine’s Day…

With Valentine’s Day looming fast (TWO WEEKS TODAY IN FACT) – love is all I can think about. Actually, no, that was a lie. It’s something I think about every single day.

I think I have convinced myself that I want to be desperately in love.

Society is telling me that I need to be in love-To validate who am. To be happy. To have a life that others would envy. Virtually every film that I watch reminds me of my ever failing love life. Whether it be an intentionally soppy love film or one that pretends to be on my level (like Bridget Jones) but equally ends with a love story that stamps all over anything I’ve ever slightly experienced.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m unlucky in love. No- no, I refuse to believe that. I mean, yes I am but why is the problem me? What if I want to be single for a while or at any rate don’t want to find the man of my dreams and settle down at 22? Why is this goal the supposed ideal? The be all and end all. I feel that in 2014, it’s been imposed on me through literature, music, film, Facebook and my closest friendship circle. I cannot get away from it. Least of all in February as Valentine’s Day draws closer.

Don’t get me started on Valentine’s Day.

I swear that if I was in a relationship at this time (I never actually have been) that I would hate this faux celebration. Let’s face it- it’s naff. Chocolates covered in the words “I LOVE YOU,” tacky flowers that I know have been picked up as an afterthought from a petrol station and gross little teddy bears holding velvety red hearts. No thank you. Future boyfriend, save your money.


Who needs to be told to be all loved up on the 14th of February? It’s being imposed on us.

As is the “love” ideal. I mean, doesn’t it defeat the very purpose of love? Shouldn’t love be spontaneous and unexpected?

Doesn’t it also give a very warped view of the relationships ahead? From my (very little) experience- it isn’t the love that Jane Austen and every other novelist since portrays. Maybe I really am unlucky. I had the inarticulate guy who as much as he tried to express nice feelings towards me used to text and write messages to me calling me sweet but spelling it “sweat.” (Maybe he was more intelligent than I thought and just hinting though?) Then there was the guy who’s idea of “wit” involved farting in bed and then holding my head under the bedcovers (needless to say that ended very swiftly.) And then there was the nice guy who was truly lovely but so honest in an “I don’t need to know” type way. Like the time he kissed me in the morning and then immediately asked if I had brushed my teeth. (really not portraying my hygiene in a good way in this blog post!) Or the time he took it upon himself to tell my best friend that her roots were showing.

What about sex? Films showing sexy perfect sex scenes which make my experiences in the bedroom look ridiculous. What about noises? The awkward fumbling- getting ready to do the deed process? The mess!?

I’m sick of being sold an ideal that I will never experience because it isn’t real. A gorgeous stranger declaring undying love for me? A man who would do ANYTHING to see me smile. A poet, or a doctor or just a damn right lovely person? Where are the Colin Firths of the world?


So as February 14th looms- again, I am left wondering why I don’t have a male to share my Ben & Jerry’s with or somebody to make romantic plans with…-perhaps it’s because I’m a bitter cynic?! Whatever the reason, until my love life sorts itself out, I’ll pretend that I don’t want it and console myself with The Notebook…


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