Tuesday, in case you haven’t heard, is Valentine’s Day.
Or, as Seth and I like to call it, The Day We Fight, Eat Wendy’s and Decide To Give It Another Shot.
OK, the name needs work. It’ll never fit on a heart-shaped greeting card. But it sums up every Valentine’s Day that Seth and I have shared in the history of our relationship. But it’s not really as bad as it sounds.
Seth and I have been dating for what I can only describe as a really, really, really long time. And every single year, our Valentine’s Day plans go awry.
I don’t know what it is about the day of love, but it seems to be the one day of the year we can’t get along. Without fail, one of us will end up doing or saying something stupid (Seth), one of us will end up in tears (me), and we’ll both sit on the couch in angry silence until it’s too late to do anything together except eat Wendy’s and go to bed.
And usually, the things we say or do that gets the fight started is stuff we’d say or do any other day of the year and it would be fine.
We make no sense. I get that. To be honest, I kind of like it.
Last year, for example: We planned to spend the day together doing fun, Valentine’s Day-esque things, but, like always, we fought, talked about breaking up and ate cheeseburgers at 11:30 p.m.
All this because Seth dozed off on the couch for six hours, sleeping right through the lasagna he promised to make for dinner. So I made it, adding a generous dash of resentment and anger, then ate it. Alone. Straight from the pan. Then threw it away because, frankly, anger is a dish best served with less cheese.
So I sat, and I stewed, and when he finally woke up, I unleashed my crazy. I might have told him that if he fell asleep EVER AGAIN, I was leaving him for a man who doesn’t sleep because he doesn’t want to close his eyes and miss out on my beauty; I can’t really remember all the little details.
I know, I’m ridiculous. I can’t help myself. And that makes it worse: I knew I was being completely irrational. Seth knew I was being completely irrational. He got up at 5 a.m. that morning to finish a few things for work so we could have the rest of the day together! Of course he was tired! Of course he fell asleep!
But to my crazy, Valentine’s Day-addled brain, it meant he didn’t love me! It meant my life was over! It meant I was right and he was wrong and he owed me a new pan of lasagna!
This is what happens when Corporate America tells us we’re supposed to set aside this one day to love each other, friends. We create these epic expectations no one could live up to, then our hearts are broken when things don’t go the way Hallmark tells us they should. It’s a vicious cycle.
Luckily, every year I come to my senses and realize I might need some major therapy.
I apologize for being such a wacko. Seth apologizes for not being more sensitive to my wackoness.
And then we go to Wendy’s.
It started because Wendy’s would be the only place open after we’d both calmed down and realized 1. We didn’t hate each other after all and 2. We were both starving.
Now, it isn’t Valentine’s Day (or New Year’s Eve, but that’s another story) if we don’t eat Wendy’s. By the time we’re mid-Frosty we can’t remember what we were mad about, but we’re both delighted we decided to split an order of chicken nuggets. It’s like Wendy’s is relationship counseling for crazies.
So happy Valentine’s Day, Seth. This year, the Wendy’s is on me. Because nothing says “I love you” like a square cheeseburger.