So the mathematical wizards over at Jezebel have worked out a formula that determines how much money one has to spend on Valentine’s Day to ensure sex with a paramour happens. The ladies are not just handy with numbers, people, they are wordsmiths, too. Sex is described as “going to Poundtown”. How romantic.
This comes in the form of dinner and presents and presumably one should bring either a calculator or the receipts in order to determine if the correct amount of cash has been outlaid to secure sex.
And needless to say, this is the MAN buying sex from a WOMAN. Split the bill on VDay?!? Surely you jest. That’s not the kind of equality women are interested in. No, sir. On VDay, dudes spend their money and ladies spread their legs.
We should just start calling it Vagina Day and be done with it.
I’ve never been one to get overly excited about Valentine’s Day and not because I’m a cynical bitch who is too clever to fall for a commercial holiday crafted by chocolate makers, florists and greeting card companies. I think that’s a pretty stupid objection, actually. St, Patrick’s Day, Halloween, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, hell even Christmas and Easter are pretty much just straight up commercial holidays, and who cares?
No, my principal lack of interest in Valentine’s Day stems from the fact that to me, it feels like a children’s holiday. Cinnamon hearts and pink cupcakes and exchanging Valentine’s at school and making hearts out of doilies and red and pink construction paper. It’s lovely and fun and sweet and poignant, but it just seems like something CHILDREN do.
In our house, I’m not the one who gets in to Valentine’s Day.
I’ve already told you the story of how I came to be in possession of a diamond engagement ring, but I also happen to be the owner of several other pieces of jewellery, all gifts from Mr. JB.
True story: When Mr. JB was a young man, working in Japan, he went on a tour of the famous Miki Moto Pearl Diving Facility and watched the divers harvest pearls and ate oysters and had romantic thoughts about the wife he had yet to meet. He wanted her to have pearl earrings to wear on her wedding day, so he purchased two matching, glossy pearls and set them aside for his one-day bride.
We met in August, and by February, we both knew that we had found our life partners. So for our first Valentine’s Day, he had those pearls set and I found them under my pillow in the morning. Under his pillow, actually. We spent the night in his room. On a single bed. Christ, we must have been in love!
I did not wear them until our wedding day. I’m not good at keeping track of my things, so I gave the pearls back to him for safe-keeping, and I’ve only worn them a handful of times since. The thought of losing them makes me feel ill, so they live in my jewellery box, safe and sound.
At one point, Mr. JB ended up with Dr.K in Thailand, and he purchased a beautiful blue sapphire for this bride he had yet to meet, so she could wear “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue”. I found the sapphire under my pillow on our second Valentine’s Day together.
So much for the idea that men don’t spend any time thinking about their wedding day. The amount of minutes I have dedicated in my entire life to pondering my nuptials: ZERO. Never gave it a thought. I thought about being married, but the wedding didn’t capture my imagination at all.
Valentine’s Day just seems to bring out the poet in Mr. JB, and not the one that writes limericks.
And I suppose that’s how I feel about Valentine’s Day, in general. If it’s a day you genuinely enjoy, that feels romantic, feels like a celebration of love, then by all means, carry on and have fun. Caveat: the person who cares about the day should foot the bill for it.
But if it’s just a cynical, opportunistic and narcissistic way to cast yourself as the Princess in your own fairytale, then I’m not so much into it. If you’re going to be a sulky cow and insist that your boyfriend/husband ruck up that $218 dollars, you’re not celebrating love, you’re celebrating prostitution.
And hey, why not? Go for it.
Nothing wrong with a little VDay prostitution, but don’t pretend it’s about love, unless by love, you mean “$218”.
As always, I will find a thoughtful, lovely present under my pillow on February 14th and a romantic card with a handwritten sentiment. And in exchange, I will give Mr. JB his favorite present. The one money can’t buy.
Oh wait. Scratch that. Money can buy it. From this gorgeous lady, for one.
But Mr.JB prefers to get his at home.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Lots of love,