With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, it is impossible to avoid getting cynical around the so-called holiday if you’re single. A a single, happy person who also refuses to support the $182 billion candy and gift industry, I would like to officially state that I am instead celebrating Valentine’s Day by letting myself be a martyr about the whole thing.
Yes, you understood correctly: Rather than subject myself to this unjust holiday, I’d rather sit here alone, but also on various media platforms, talking about my radical self-love until I ultimately die for the cause at hand. That’s just me!
I get it: Valentine’s Day can be fun. There’s chocolate, flowers and most importantly, hope for a bright future with your significant other. But newsflash: All that can be achieved without giving our money to corporate America or setting up unrealistic expectations for our loved ones that will inevitably lead to disappointment. Why not take the pressure off the day by cooking each other a lowkey dinner, or volunteering, or deciding to be burned at the stake for their brave decisions like Joan of Arc? Sounds better than spending $200 on a forced mediocre Italian meal.
Some women have honored me for my courage, but the truth is I really had no choice in the matter. Nobody “chooses” to be a martyr for Valentine’s Day. My faith in letting everyone kill me instead of participating in Valentine’s Day is so deep, that I’d rather be forcibly drowned in a river than advocate for this stupid holiday everyone seems to love so much.
I won’t say the pressure doesn’t get to me sometimes. One of my closest friends is in Mexico celebrating her four-year relationship, and my brother is planning to propose to his girlfriend that night as well. It can be hard to denounce this kind of institution, but then I remember I’d way rather be beheaded than have one of my dumb exes show up at my door in a suit and take me to a dinner where a huge diamond ring is hidden in an ornate dessert I only eat a bite because it’s so rich and “I’m full”. I would rather be dead but specifically in a way where I’d be remembered for it.
To all women out there who are afraid of standing up against Cupid’s religion, I am here, for now. And even though my martyrdom will be bloody, vicious, and very well-documented on social media, let it serve as an example that being brutally killed to make a really good point on Twitter is better than any dumb heart-shaped necklace from Macy’s.
