Every year, just about this time, flower shops are flooded with last minute orders, boxed chocolates are flying off the shelves, hallmark is selling out sappy ass sayings, and diamonds glisten as they are set into an abundance of settings. On the flipside – Victoria Secret and every other lingerie chain is swarming with anxious woman.
Yes, I’m one of those people who highly dislikes Valentines Day. I disliked it growing up, I disliked it through the two years of courtship that led to six years of marriage. I dislike it as a single woman and I will, undoubtedly, dislike it as a grown ass spinster.
Lets be real – Valentines Day is a glorified day of prostitution. Guys cough up money for chocolates, flowers, cards, teddy bears, jewelry, and expensive dinners. In turn, women slip on the slinky undergarments (or go without them), the high heels, the skimpy attire, get into beauty mode, and turn into the tigress of her mans dreams.
But not really.
Are we so fucking programmed that a man can’t do for his woman unless a date is set? Why is the value of a mans love measured in the expense of some shit the girl will care less about this time next year?
Are we so fucking programmed that a woman can’t be a sexual, primal temptress without bribery? She can’t tell if her man cares 364 days of the year? She cant want to be his Aphrodite…just because?
I know guys who will only treat their woman like the queen that she is on Februrary 14th because the world tells him to – instead of showing gratitude, adoration, honor and loyalty all year round.
I know girls who save sexual positions solely for anniversaries, birthdays and Valentines Day. REALLY?
I’m serious about this…For reals reals?
Screw Valentines Day. Magic lives outside of a box on the calendar. He will run a bath for her because he knows the days been hard. He will bring her orchids because he knows she hates roses. He will create something for her because diamonds are not every girls best friend. He will take her to a chill spot with a live acoustic band while they share divine niblets of various cuisines because he knows pretentious “high-end” restaurants make her nervous. He will leave post it’s reminding her of their love the morning after a fight. He will touch her like she is the softest of clay, the smoothest of glass, the swell of her inner thighs being the most precious divine inspiration to have ever blessed his shoulder blades. He will make her turn into a waterfall with a whisper and rage like fire with a growl. He will be lathered in masculinity, romance, artistic intuition and a charisma in his nervous banter that could never be matched by a perfectly penned card.
Screw Valentines Day. Magic lives outside of a box on the calendar. She will listen to him as he banters on about nothing, massaging him from head to toe. She will stimulate his funny bone, his heart, his soul when she puts aside all of her qualms and truthfully attempts to understand his passions. She will seduce him with her eyes, her lips, the mystery in her smile from across the dinner table…as if it were the first glance. She will remind him why he is her puzzle piece. She will say thank you for being the man that you are…because he needs to hear that truth. She will be his lady in the streets and his freak in daydreams because what she did to his body in between the sheets was that fucking delicious.
They will relish in one another’s magnificence every day, all day. They will listen to the silence between them. They will laugh at themselves and put down all guards and laugh wholeheartedly. They will bask in the reasons chemistry and magic make everyone’s Vday seem like their October 7th. They will be a power couple – spiritually entwined, mentally erotic, emotionally fused, physically drawn, universally recognized as two stars living amongst us.
I want that. So keep your Valentines Day one act. I want the entire performance. Encore. Encore. Encore.