By Kelly Rose McAleer
Associate Editor-in-Chief
Dear Cupid,
You’ve been so cold and distant lately. What’s going on with us? I thought we were buds.
Well…there was that time I swore never to marry.
Cupid, as the god of love, you didn’t take that personally, did you? You know I was just going through a Queen Elizabeth I phase. I was 12 years old, for God’s sake! And yes, maybe I swore that vow again four years later – but you’ve seen the divorce rate in America!
Of course I was wary of matrimony! I suppose I haven’t made your job any easier.
I sighed my way through Romeo and Juliet, convinced that their “love at first sight” was actually “lust at first sight” (I still think I’m right on that one).
As various relatives and acquaintances divorced, I found myself doubting the eternal love that Shakespeare, Stephenie Meyer or Nicholas Sparks would have me believe in.
But let us not play these games. I know what your indifference really stems from.
It was the Anti-Valentine’s Day movement, wasn’t it? I’m sure you remember. On Feb. 14, 2005 (and then again in 2006) my friends and I donned black shirts that loudly screamed “Happy Anti-Valentine’s Day” in pink puffy paint.
With the large drawing of a broken heart on our backs, we were young rebels against the corporate holiday.
We scoffed at candy hearts and detested Hallmark cards. In seventh grade we were an oddity; in eighth grade we had girls asking to make shirts with us.
We didn’t have boyfriends, and we didn’t need valentines.
Cupid, let me be frank. I still don’t need a boyfriend. I love belonging to myself. I don’t even need a valentine since my BFF Vatina called dibs on me last week.
I hate candy hearts (yuck) and my dad always gets chocolates for me.
I guess I just want to make sure we’re on good terms – just in case someone who meets my impossibly high standards shows up. Until then, we can still be friends – right?
