The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hello and happy 2022! I say this even though we're well into February. It seems like wishing you Happy New Year at this point is like congratulating you on going Clear when really you've been an Operating Thetan for months! *

* Made this mistake while standing next to Tom Cruise at a urinal in 1988.

Right now, we're closing in on both Super Bowl Sunday and Valentine's Day. Blech, it gives me a tummy tornado just to say them both in the same sentence. This year they're perversely falling on back-to-back days, so all those football fans withdrawing hard from the end of another season will now have 24 hours to get their shit together and turn into Mickey Rourke by Monday.

The Super Bowl makes me feel simultaneously hungry and queasy. It's an event that lasts a long time, and there's typically a massive spread from the get-go. People bring enough homemade peach cobbler and Costco Hogs in a Lovesack for 90 people, and, yes, go ahead and open that third box of Chicken in a Biskit on your way to the pulled pork station. All day long, it's:

a spoonful of this
and a forkful of those
and a plateful of pie covered with Oreos.

By the end of the third quarter, I've consumed enough sodium and nitrogen to constitute a live explosive, should I merely opt to eat a smidge of lawn fertilizer. Oh, and while we're on the subject, the other night I was watching the Olympics and two commercials came on. The first was for a colitis medication, followed by an ad for Chipotle. I found this a curious juxtaposition, and if anything, shouldn't the Chipotle spot have been first, based on nature's laws? 

Well, enough of the scatological bullshit. Let's talk about Valentine's Day, an event I'll call VD for simplicity's sake. I don't know about you, but it's one of those holidays that hasn't ever gone very well. I've never been much of a romantic, nothing even approaching such legendary standard bearers as Patrick Swayze in Ghost or the guy with the perm who played Luke in General Hospital. 

During my dating years, VD always caused discomfort, like an itch that was impossible to scratch. I found myself constantly guessing, wondering if I was doing enough or maybe going embarrassingly over the top, seemingly "too committed" to a relationship. And by the time this happened, VD and self-esteem had become nothing more than two shiv-waving cell mates. Ultimately I found a partner who lovingly shares my intolerance and scorn for this holiday. We may disagree on the allure of Wordle, but thank the Lord that we're no Kellyanne and George Conway when it comes to this. 

But please understand, this is my own personal hang-up. Just because I'd rather little spoon with Marjorie Taylor Greene than plan a VD surprise for someone, doesn't mean you're not entitled to your own mental scrapbook of wonderful holiday memories, both mental and physical. Knock yourself out.

Because I'd rather knock myself out than do Valentine's Day.