There’s a huge problem with Valentine’s Day.
“It’s all so complicated,” said a young woman at work. “Emotions, expectations, it’s …”
Complicated?
Yes, it is indeed. And the sighs of all the lovers in the world tell you the truth of it.
So I guess I’m going to have to simplify things. For am I not a river to my people?
But before we simplify, let’s see how Valentine’s Day got so darn complicated in the first place.
I suppose it was inevitable. That’s what happens when you name a romantic holiday after a priest who defied his political boss, Claudius the Cruel, and got himself beheaded for his pains. Or it could have been two other guys named Valentine. History is unclear on who is actually to blame.
Throw in a red Valentine’s Day heart, which is the silhouette of some artist’s rendering of an iconic female posterior. You didn’t know that? Too bad. Now you do.
Mix in Geoffrey Chaucer, the 14th century poet and early Valentine’s Day propagandist famous for his “Canterbury Tales,” and add some chocolate.
Then toss in flowers, champagne, put “Notting Hill” on the TV or some other tear-jerker (“Creed” works for me), get out the handkerchiefs, and you can see for yourself that it all goes crazy.
And so after all the centuries since the priest lost his head, long after Chaucer’s bones have turned to dust and Al Capone has become a cartoon — it’s still complicated.
What do you get her? What do you get him? Will she like it? Will he like it? Does he like me? Does she like me? Does she “kinda like” me or “really like, like me?”
He: I can’t live without her. I smell the pillow when she’s gone. Is that weird?
She: He completes me. I smell his pillow when he’s gone. That’s weird, isn’t it?
And then, years later:
He: If I get her a flower at the gas station, can I still go bowling with my friends?
She: If I make pot roast, will he smile and quit worrying about work?
In the beginning, hearts flutter, then soar above the Earth on the strength of a simple smile from the beloved.
Or maybe that heart just lies there in a ditch, stone cold and unyielding, a piece of meat, where he/she kicked it and where it will never find love again, unto eternity.
Popular fiction tells me that young women without dates call their girlfriends to condemn stupid men who don’t know what’s good for them. Then somebody eats too much ice cream and watches “Sleepless in Seattle” alone on the couch with tissues. But that’s just fiction.
Real life experience tells me that men are just as clueless as always, thinking through their simple man brains, “What did I do?” because they really don’t know what they did, even though they should.
“Why are men like this?” asked the young woman who said Valentine’s Day is so complicated. “What is it with men?
You mean, “What do women want?: Men really don’t know.
Because over the centuries, for all the ruling of the world stuff and starting wars and crafting economies and political systems that fail — and ruining the planet by burning fossil fuels and not nominating Will Smith for an Oscar — men are simple creatures.
We just take hints. Perhaps that’s because while men look like mammals, in this department we’re as simple as salmon.
And what do salmon want? All salmon want to do is get in the river and swim upstream.
They don’t care about bears or fishermen or eagles grabbing their brothers and eating them. Salmon do not make piteous cries of pain when they’re plucked out of the water, as a bear munches down on their brains because salmon brains are so fatty and delicious to bears.
And the other salmon, the ones who escape the bears, they wouldn’t care about the piteous screams of their brothers, even if they could hear. All they want to do is fin.
“So I get him some salmon for Valentine’s Day?” asked a young woman. “Just a plate of salmon?”
Yes! Keep it simple. Men are salmon. All young women should know this. Put a plate of salmon before him, but don’t tell him why. I’d grill it and add lemon.
“What about cologne? Don’t men like cologne?” she asked, politely.
Men wear cologne until they’re married, I said, making an absolutely wild generalization that I can’t support with facts. But still, it’s true. At least in my salmonoid mind.
“You guys get married and then you stop wearing cologne?” she asked. “Do you guys still take showers?”
Yes, we shower and some of us still shave and go to work, and bring flowers home on Valentine’s Day. But many men don’t wear cologne after marriage. Think about it.
What if your husband keeps trying on different colognes, asking, “Honey, do I smell good in this musky jungle scent or should I go with the leather and High Sierra smell?” You might have issues.
“So I cook him salmon, don’t give cologne?” she asked, seeming confused.
I guess I didn’t simplify it as I’d hoped. But then how can anybody simplify that which can’t be simplified?
It’s all about love, actually, isn’t it?
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