Of all the secular holidays-and don’t you give us any bosh about St. Valentine: this is a secular holiday-Valentine’s Day is the ne plus ultra of making uncoupled folks squirm. Groundhog Day is cute and hopeful, maybe even a little earnest. Who’d have thought whole nations would gather around little albino rodents, fingers crossed, hoping to find out that Old Man Winter’s not long for this world. Victoria Day is just a big ol’ party, and no one can really even remember why anymore.
Basically, if you’ve got a significant other who still speaks to you, and a monogamous one at that, you’re all set for Valentine’s. Add a dash of bubble bath, sprinkle liberally with rose petals, garnish with a box of chocolate, and bam! You’ve got yourself a holiday.
And what about those for whom Eros is absent? Well, witness the annually reared ugly head of anti-Valentine’s grumbling. You know the schtick: “How come there’s no holiday for singles?” “Why do couples get all the fun?” “What are they so smug about? It’ll never last.”
If you’re tired of the hetero-monogamo-tyranny that is Valentine’s Day, then this is your call-to-arms. Spite your happily coupled friends and neighbours by informing them that: a) edible undies are tacky, not sexy; and b) Valentine’s Day is for everyone, regardless of the cut of your relationship’s jib.
Here are some scenarios for you to make use of in the planning of your creative resistance to hetero-fascist V-Day activities.
Lame
The Wallflower: Attend a singles’ dance. These dowdy little sisters to the formal dance should start cropping up any minute now.
The Videohound: Rent Meg Ryan movies. Stay home with your dog and a box of kleenex.
Tame
The DonJuan.com: Treat yourself to a bottle of Veuve Cliquot and some truffles and cruise the internet for some sexy hookups. Nothing quenches your acne-plagued libido like cybersex.
Love Is In the Eye of The Beheld: Think George Costanza and a bit of airborne grapefruit. Copulatory pleasures can result in all manner of projectile fluids being released. Eschew the pearl necklace, boys and girls, and give your valentine a pearl veil. If you time it right, your partner will be winking seductively at passersby for the rest of the day, which may prove handy when combined with the Third Wheel.
The Dinner for Two: Make a reservation for two at a swanky Yorkville resto. It could be anywhere, but we prefer Sassafraz for its B-list celebs. Show up solo; be vocal and let the hostess know that you’re waiting for someone; make sure that you’re speaking loud enough that most of the restaurant and the kitchen staff can hear you. Have a martini while you wait. Have another. Several drinks and a couple of hours later, when your date still has not shown, turn on the waterworks and pronouce, again loudly, that you’ve been stood up and that you haven’t got enough money to pay your bill. Go home with the waitress or the bus boy, whichever one offers you cigarettes.
Mild
The Third Wheel: You and your partner (boyfriend, gal pal, fuck buddy, cousin) arrive at a favourite watering hole, preferably one that you know will be populated by stylishly-clad men and women of about your own age and socioeconomic status. Split up and find your perfect threeway. The timid may employ the gay hanky code: gold-coloured hanky in your left pocket if you’re a couple seeking a third, in your right pocket if you’re the third seeking a couple. The more outgoing will find that a good deal of tequila and speaking your intentions bluntly will work just as well. Amyl nitrite is optional.
The Merry Menses: Show your girl how much you love her by pretending to love the messy time of the month. Don’t shower or wash your hands! Proudly sport the remnants of your love while at work, at class, or studying at Robarts. Those in the know will see your souvenir and will be party to your love, creating a beautiful sense of carnal community amongst likeminded lovemakers.
The Boyfriend Swap: Ladies, why wait until you’re 40, married, and unhappy? Swap those boyfriends now and see if your girlfriends’ pastures really are greener. Better still, auction your man off to the highest bidder and show that chauvinist pig what it feels like to be chattel.
Wild
The Queen Victoria: Corsets, laudanum, and hysterical paralysis for the ladies. Hansom cabs, gentleman’s gentlemen, and colonizing India for the boys. Raise your glass to Doctor Freud and call your lovers by their rightful names: Mommy and Daddy.
La Chasse: Find yourself a reputable cougar bar. The Cadillac Lounge might do fine, unless you want to be fancy. Identify your prey by her bottle-blonde locks, tobacco-stained teeth, un-ironic retro attire, and tan-in-a-bottle complexion. To ensure she is a specimen suitable for mounting, examine her fingers. Do you see precious metals and rare stones? If so, accept her gifts (drinks, compliments, and ceaseless chatter), flatter her (“I, too, love Def Leppard!”), and accompany her to her den for a night of unbridled passion. When she falls asleep, rob her blind. No precious metals or rare stones? Accept a drink or three while you steal her purse and check for plastic. Still no luck? Run, you poor thing. Run.
Mr. Robinson: Much like La Chasse for those who prefer men, this involves a certain amount of guile and a hunter’s instinct. Your prey is the “happily married man on a business trip,” whose natural habitat is the hotel bar. Try The Drake, or, if you’re ambitious, The Four Seasons. Avoid the Royal York, as only old people go there. Mr. Robinson will wear a suit and when prodded will talk about his family. Convince him to buy you dinner, and, while he’s in the bathroom, borrow his AmEx GoldCard to phone in a large order of flowers (think orchids, not long-stem roses), foreign chocolate, animal pelts, or anything else that you desire (Montblanc pen? Hell, yeah). Remember to spare no expense: have it delivered to your home overnight.
Go forth, children, and remember to send The Varsity explicit reports of your conquests for us to read aloud in our offices.
