Valentine’s Day - The Real Sotry

Valentine’s Day - The Real Sotry

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Well, it's coming up on Valentine's Day. That time of year, when lovers across the world remember their sweethearts and show them how much they care by spending seventy-five dollars on a bouquet of flowers that will be dead in a week. Ah yes, three quarters of a C-note, and for a whole seven days you can enjoy the gift that just keeps on giving ... for a week.
Flowers.
I mean, come on, you can't play with them, you can't fix anything with them, you can't wear them. Well, I suppose you can wear one, but the women are never happy with just one. They gotta' have twelve of them. And that's another thing. Why twelve? Why not seven, or three? Or one? If one flower is pretty, why do they need a dozen of them?
Never understood that.
Actually, I suppose the point is moot for me, as I am currently not burdened with such an obligation this year. That's right. No one. Niets. Nichts. Nada. Yep, when ol' Feb 14 rolls around, you won't find me standing in a florist's shop asking if the guy can sell me the display model at half price, or if he has some day old stock in the back somewhere that he needs to get rid of.
Nope. This year ... well, just like last year, and the year before that, and the year ... I think you get the picture. Anyway, I get to save myself a little money. Time too. You know how long it takes to try to find a gift for a woman that is mad at you? It was just such a situation that gave us Valentine's Day in the first place. That's the subject of this week's column: Valentine's Day and the genius behind the whole idea.
You've probably heard that St. Valentine's Day was merely a marketing trick that retailers came up with to increase business and make money. Sorry to disappoint you. No, it was some guy that had an absolutely inspired thought and because of it, brought about a tradition that has cost men hard earned cash ever since (I say men because women don’t consider it a cost. To them, it's fun and well worth it).
Just picture it. Eighteenth or nineteenth century, somewhere in Europe. There's a guy, sitting on the front steps of his village domicile, drinking some ale, trying to figure out how to get back in with his woman. Suddenly, his eyes light up, he snaps his fingers, he throws his stein across the yard and runs down the street. In twenty minutes, he's back home and bursting through the door, with an impressive present and a half baked, quickly worked out, but basically workable story.
He sees her standing at the sink with her back to him.
"Honey," he coos as he steps up behind her and attempts to put his arms around her waist.
"Don't you 'honey' me," screeches the delicate little thing as she wenches herself from his loving grasp.
"But I–"
"You think you can flirt with Heidi, the milk maid, like some gigolo in heat and after one argument, come back to me like nothing happened?"
"But sweetie, I just remembered that it's St. Valentine's Day."
She stops, turns around and stares at him. "It's what?"
"St. Valentine's day," he repeats as he reaches for her.
"And just who is St. Val–DON’T ... touch me."
"Sorry, sorry," he says, backing off.
"Now, just who is St. Valentine and what is that in your hand?" she asks as she dries her hand on a rag.
"Oh, this?" he says as he holds up a small powder blue jewelry box.
"Yes, you idiot, that!" she says, pointing as she tosses the rag over her shoulder.
"Oh, well, that's what I was trying to tell you. I was down at the market and I just happen to remember that there's this tradition ... um, that on St. Valentine's day, people get a gift for the one ..." here, he pauses (this guy is clever) and turns away as he says, "Oh, never mind."
"Wait a minute," says the woman pulling him back while eyeing the lovely box. "Tell me what you were going to say."
"Well, it's no big deal, just this thing lovers do on this date each year to show how much they truly care about the one they love." He sheepishly lifts his hand, holding up the colorful, pretty little box.
She takes the box form him and examines it. "It's ... it's beautiful," she says, smiling at it. Then her countenance changes and she flashes her eyes up at him. "I've never heard of St. Valentine."
"Oh, uh ... you haven't? That's weird. He was the saint that, that, uh ... saved this couple from the ... uh, guillotine."
"From the guillotine," she says, lifting her chin and raising her eyebrows.
"Yeah, yeah, they were um, they were ... caught trying to, uh ... uh ..."
"Yes ...?"
"Hold on, I'm trying to remember now, it's been so long since I ... let's see, I think they were hiding from her parents and then they got caught and St. Valentine stopped the, uh – that's right, he stopped the village from hanging them."
"I thought it was a guillotine?" she says with an expressionless face.
"Oh, well, yeah – yeah, it was, but they were going to hang them first, you know, just to make sure. They used to do that back then, you know, science not being what it is now and all."
"Ah, I see. So how come I've never heard of this St. Valentine?"
He shrugs and shakes his head. "Well ... because ... you're not Catholic."
"Neither are you."
"Yeah, sure, I know. Uh, but my mother was half Catholic."
"You told me she was an atheist."
"Yeah, honey, she was. She was half Catholic and half atheist."
"Ahhh, I see," she says as she holds the box up once again to look at it.
He stands there and watches her open it and look inside. She sees the mirror on the underside of the lid and looks back up at him. Her smile beams as she throws her arms around him.
"Thank you, sweetheart, I love it."
"I knew you would," he says then happily leads her toward the bedroom.
Midway there, she stops and turns to him. "By the way," she says, "what's the date of St. Valentine's day?"
"It's the um ... uh ... let me see, if Christmas was back in December then that would make this month, uh ..." he says as he looks at the ceiling in hard recollection.
A half smirk, half smile crosses her lips. "Yeah, thought so." She rolls her eyes as her smile fills out. "Come on," she says as she pulls him by the hand into their den of love.

So, there you have it. The real story of St. Valentine's Day. Surprising, I know, but I got it from a writer. And we all know how honest they are.

Keck