I'll admit it. I was very bitter about being single. For years I wanted to hold my own Valentine's Day party. It would be in a garage and everyone would have to come in 1920's costumes. ;-)
A lot of it stems from being in an environment where nearly all of the people I associated with were paired up, and I could never quite get someone to commit to being my girlfriend (or, if I did, it was because she wanted something of me). I've been on the receiving end of the 'just friends' speech more times than I care to count! There were a couple of exceptions, whom I'm still in touch with today even though we've both moved on to other partners. But by and large, I was single much more often than I was with someone, and my coupled friends were not at all afraid to rub that in my face. I'm not sure what hurt more: the people who joked with me about not being able to get any, or the supposed 'good Christian couples' in my life who claimed that my singleness was a gift from God while at the same time telling me it was a sign of spiritual immaturity (let the cognitive dissonance begin! George Orwell invented the term doublethink exactly for this sort of situation!)
All that aside, I will share briefly the story of one relationship I had from late 1996 to Valentine's Day 1998--a day I call the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. You'll see why in a little bit. The individual in question shall only be referred to by her initials, R.C., to protect the guilty.
We were a perfect couple despite her being six years older than me: we had almost all of the same interests, attended the same church, and actually worked in the same building (I was still with FDA back then; she was a secretary at an architectural firm). We hit it off immediately. By Christmas of that year--at her insistence; I wanted to wait--we were engaged. I hit it off very well with her eight-year-old daughter and I regret to this day any hurt I may have caused that little girl (now a grown woman).
There were problems, I'll admit it: I was not the most mature individual in the world, and I had some issues I was struggling with at the time (not the least of which was medication I had been prescribed which was entirely inappropriate for what I was dealing with--not that anyone knew that back then). She however was less than truthful with me: she really was looking for a meal ticket, and I wasn't providing it to her satisfaction.
Flash forward to Valentine's Day 1998. We went to see Titanic. That was the end of things. She decided she wanted someone more like free-wheeling, devil-may-care Jack than established society gentleman (and overall enormous prick) Carl. At the same time, however, she had the gall to say the following: "There is a lifestyle to which I would like to become accustomed, and I am raising my daughter to have the same expectations. If you cannot provide that, it's time for me to move on." Again, doublethink.
A week later the relationship was very, very painfully over. This was at the same time that Celine Dion's Titanic Love Theme was in heavy rotation on the radio, so every time I turned on the radio I got reminded of it.
If that weren't bad enough, R.C. had the unmitigated gall to call me every year at work on Valentine's Day to brag about how great her life was going and how she made the right decision. This happened three years in a row.
On the third anniversary of our breakup, I finally worked up the courage to let her have it. But I did so in a nice way: I told her how great my life was going, that I had moved on to someone else (which I had by that point, even if the relationship had only just started), and that I was on an upward track (which I was--later that year I would be promoted to investigator, something I had been working toward for a long time).
She got very quiet, then the truth came out: she admitted the breakup was entirely her fault, and told me her father was critically ill (he had Parkinson's disease even when we were together--a pity, since I genuinely liked that guy) and her daughter was failing English, and could I by chance offer her some tutoring? At the time I was moonlighting as a high school and college tutor--ironically, I got that job because of an introduction R.C. had made for me! I said, "I'm afraid you probably couldn't afford me," and at that point the call terminated. And it's a good thing I did, because another friend of mine, a nice little old Jewish lady named Frieda whom I'd met online after breaking up with R.C., said that she would personally fly out to California and kick my ass if I even considered that proposal for one moment!
So I dished out my own St. Valentine's Day Massacre on February 14, 2001. Payback is a bitch when you pay back the bitch!
Two years and a week later, I would meet a wonderful lady named Sandy whom I had the honor of marrying the following year. We've had our difficulties, but in the decade since we have made each other stronger in every way as we've faced every conceivable challenge a couple could face.
The moral of this sordid tale, for my single friends, is that sometimes you're better off alone. Don't settle for less than what you're truly worth. And sometimes you need to be alone for awhile to figure out what you are truly worth. Your value is not dictated by who you are or are not partnered with. Your value is dictated by your values, your achievements, and your motivation in life.
That said, I never ever want to forget my single friends on this day. I love every single one of you and I'm not afraid to admit it. So go to bed tonight knowing that someone cares, someone remembers, and someone wants the very best for you.
As for you, R.C.: I've forgiven you. I can't hate, because that would imply that I care. I do hope that you've gotten everything you deserve, however, and that's all I can say about that.
Happy Valentine's Day everyone! I'm thinking I need to give the MST3K treatment to Titanic again soon. ;-)
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