Valentine's Day is Sunday. Did you not know? Oh, dear. You better get your act together and go out and buy some lovely jewelry or chocolates or sappy cards for the loved ones in your life. At least, that's what the commercials and newspaper ads and store windows tell us, right?
I always have mixed feelings as holidays like Valentine's Day, Mother's Day and my birthday roll around. On the one hand, I don't need anything, don't want Jamey to spend a lot of money on me and don't want a big hullabaloo. These holidays were probably invented (with the exception of my birthday- that was real- I was born, ask my mom) to get us consumers out into stores, to shell out good money for flowers that will soon die and chocolates that go to our hips and jewelry we can't take with us.
With all that said, why do I want it? Why do I get sucked into those silly commercials with dancing silhouettes and classical music where the man sweeps the woman off her feet and drapes diamonds on her wrist? I don't want diamonds. Really, I don't. I fall prey to these silly ads, know in my heart and head that I don't want those things. Then when I don't get them, I'm kind of disappointed. Does this happen to anyone else? I torture myself, I tell you.
If my birthday is coming up, I find myself day dreaming about the the perfect gift. I may have not needed this perfect gift the week before or even knew it existed, but all of a sudden I think about how nice it would be to have. Then, I get a reality check and realize I don't really want it. I don't really need it. I probably won't even use it or wear it very often.
And so I think I'm fine.
My birthday approaches and of course I don't receive this made-up perfect gift (Who could possibly read my mixed-up crazy mind?) and I feel let down.
Would avoiding stores, TVs and all manner of media help my situation? Probably. But there is something to this gift-receiving thing. We (okay, I) like to feel appreciated, loved, thought of and admired. A gift that expresses these things is a welcome one. If only I could shake the whole anticipating-something-I-know-I-don't-want-will-never-need feeling and the disappointment that ensues (but thankfully never lasts very long).
Oh, my poor (figuratively and literally), dear husband. He's such a good sport to stay with me.