My bloody valentine

My friend Steve, who has been married for more than a decade, points out to me that if you’re married or “in a relationship” as they say on Facebook you’ve got at least four days a year when the gods of consumer capitalism you have decreed that you must let your loved one know she’s really special: Birthday, anniversary, Christmauukah, and Valentine’s Day. After awhile throw in Mother’s Day. After a decade, that means you’re on your 40th or 50th time of performing mandatory specialness rituals.

That’s tough — real tough, even for a guy like Steve, who is all sensitive and stuff. Either you have to spend a lot of money or be extremely creative or, ideally, both. If not, you run the risk of seeming indifferent.

The alternative, of course, is to remain or become single, in which case the Valentine’s Day gods have a different message for you, to wit, You Suck.