Lost Horizons

The path to true love

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and thanks be that it is over for another year. This annual fest of commercialisation of romance has me fed up to the back teeth.

The romantic meal in the restaurant, just the two of you, gazing into each others eyes and saying nothing, but thinking how much you would rather be with a bunch of friends, when ordering another bottle of wine would be a magnanimous gesture, instead of sharing a bottle of wine, after you have toasted each other with a glass of champagne. Oh, yes the romantic gesture – card, flowers or a gift, but, how romantic is it, when you are expected to do it, because some commercial wizard decided to make money out of some Roman priest, who decided to keep on marrying couples, against the emporor’s wishes, and ended up falling in love with the jailor’s daughter? And as these gestures are judged by ladies against the gestures made to their friends/colleagues, if you don’t measure up to meet her requirements for one upmanship, you will very soon end up in the dog house.

Andrew Marshall, who is a psychologist with 20 years experience specialising in couple counselling, gives the following adv ice: don’t listen to soppy dedications on the radio, don’t buy a huge bouquet of expensive flowers, don’t book a table at a romantic candlelit restaurant, do embrace love in all its complications, do open a joint bank account, do confess some painful secret from your childhood, and do allow yourself to be vulnerable. Well, apart from the bit about the flowers and the restaurant, what a load of bollox!

I always have a good laugh at those stupid valentines day messages: “snookums pookie, I love it when you curl your toes – your snuggle bunny”. Who actually talks like that – its hilarious! Embrace love with all its complications – what the hell is that supposed to mean, anyway? Joint bank account? Not a chance – what is mine, is my own! Painful secrets from my childhood – they are painful, I don’t want to revisit how traumatised I became by being forced to model knitting patterns in Womens Magazine, when I was a three year old. I’ve got over it, buried, forgotten, leave it alone. Allow myself to be vulnerable – ha- fat chance.

posted by Luke @ 1:05 PM