Dear Valentine's Day

Bet you think this letter is going to be me bitching about how Valentine's Day persecutes those that are single.  How it is an exclusionary holiday, made to kick you when you are down.  Well guess what?  I don't care.  Let the couples have their holiday.  Crying about being single on Valentine's Day is for ugly hookers and Taylor Swift.  My gripe with Valentine's Day goes deeper.

Just as it is easier to judge a book by how cool the cover is, or how good a movie is based on whether Sarah Jessica Parker is horsefacing it to death, I find it expedient to rate the holidays by the deliciousness of the food associated with them.  You, by far, are the worst.  Disagree?  Let's go to the big board:

New Years- Pork and black eyed peas.  I eat kielbasa every year on January 1, which is why I am immune to all nonlethal weapons, and why I once was able to speak Sanskrit, even if it was only for thirty seconds.

Easter- Ham and deviled eggs, probably because the Catholics said, "Oh, hey Jews, you don't believe in Jesus?  Guess what everyone will eat today."

Fourth of July and Memorial Day- Copious amounts of every meat imaginable, and every salad available, as long as it contains mayonnaise.  Just thinking about it brings a tear of rapturous joy to my eyes, or maybe that is just the meat sweats dripping down my forehead.

Halloween- Candy.  Or as Garfield puts it:

 Thanksgiving- Turkey and stuffing.  I am indifferent to most Thanksgiving foods, until the next day when they are piled all together between two slices of bread.  Suddenly, like the mighty Voltron, they combine into something so much more powerful than they could be alone.

Christmas- This is usually up to individual interpretation, which might be the biggest win of them all.  My family does lasagna.  My mother's lasagna may be able to cure cancer, but good luck getting any leftovers to test the theory.

So, what do you have, Valentine's Day?  Guess what, Russell Stover candies don't count, because they have become a Christmas thing too.  Do you have a decadent meat dish?  No?  I guess maybe people eat flowers then?

No, you have these:

You know when you have a flashlight you leave in the car, or the garage in the summer?  Sooner or later, the heat will make the batteries explode, and a chalky, alkaline crust forms all over the inside of the flashlight.  I am certain that is what these candy hearts are made of, along with whale's tears and dandruff collected from New York subway floors.  These shouldn't be given to your enemies, let alone someone you even care about. 

To put this in perspective, I once went to a New Year's party at my friend Furious T's house.  We bought a keg of beer, listened to some great music, and generally had a wonderful time.  The next morning, several of us were smoking on the deck.  T wandered out of the house in a wifebeater and boxers, holding a cigarette in one hand, and a machete in the other.  He sauntered up to his sister's boyfriend, got close enough to kiss him, and said so softly, so sweetly, "If you ever stop loving me, I will kill you."

That was infinitely more romantic than throwing these chalky demons to your girlfriend.  You might as well tell her she's too fat for chocolates, so you got her disappointment in the form of a heart instead.