Ahh February, the season of love. (People call it that, right? No? Ok.) Ahh February, the… second month of the year. The arrival of Mid-February can only mean one thing: the imminent approach of a day girls love, guys dread, and the single and cynical will relentlessly use as a means to make kind-of-joking propositions about how they’ll be spending quality time with their two favorite fellas, “Ben and Jerry” while quietly crying inside and praying their crush will show up on their doorstep with a box of Ferrero Rocher and a dinner reservation… Yeah. Anyways. Valentine’s Day.
First things first, I do not have a problem with Valentine’s Day. There are several reasons for this. One, I love food, particularly at nice restaurants. Two, I appreciate a good box of chocolate, particularly when they’re heart-shaped because hearts are basically fucked-about triangles and triangles have great structural integrity, which is a trait any half-decent man should admire in a dessert. Three, everybody is so busy bitching about being single that they all forget I’m single, which removes an enormous personal burden from my shoulders.
With that being said, it does have its flaws. I enjoy food and nice restaurants, but I’d enjoy it a hell of a lot more if the girl paid for everything and also sat at a different table from me so I could appreciate my meal in complete silence. Chocolate has no downfalls, but all it takes is a casual “I’ll just try one” from your date before the whole deal (cardboard box and everything) suddenly disappears. Three, my parents always manage to cut through the rabble and make backhanded comments about the fact that I am single, even though EVERY OTHER FUCKING PERSON IN THE WORLD IS TOO APPARENTLY. But I digress. That aside, all these reasons pale in comparison to the real problem I have with Cupid and what he’s doing to the citizens of our country. You see, there’s something much more significant, much more awesome, and infinitely more badass that gets overshadowed by Valentine’s Day.
Falling on the third Monday of every February, Presidents Day continually gets stuck with Cupid’s sloppy seconds. How does a sadistic floating angel-baby who shoots innocent men and women in the back with a medieval weapon steal the spotlight from the father of our country, a man who had wooden teeth and the libido of a bull shark in mating season? It’s beyond me. I mean, this guy makes Chuck Norris look feminine. His activities include famously chopping down a cherry tree when he was a kid, crossing the subzero Delaware River in the dead of night in a rickety rowboat, and basically founding our entire beloved country. I myself haven’t even gotten my axe privileges back at home after an ill-fated incident with a cherished family canoe and a tree that really had no business falling in that direction anyways, which by the way Dad, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about because I’m a 23 year old man, damnit, and if I want to go chop down a tree when I’m bored I should be allowed to. And if you’ve never tried standing in a moving rowboat, come talk to me when you recover from your concussion and skull injuries.
Not convinced Mr. Washington and his holiday deserve more respect? Think about this: most people get a nice headstone when they kick the bucket. The particularly self-centered might get a sweet marble statue or orb, but that’s gonna cut a hefty chunk out of their kid’s inheritance. With that in mind, take a minute to think when the last time you passed a cemetery and saw a 500-foot tall stone obelisk presiding over someone’s grave was. Probably never, right? Of course I’m right. Because there is only one 500-foot tall stone obelisk in the world, and it’s in Washington, D.C., and it was built for, you guessed it, Mr. Jerry “Big Daddy America” Washington. It’s the tallest stone structure in the world and we built it with 40 years of good old-fashioned American manual labor, not with the help of some alien technology (looking at you, ancient Egypt. Those pyramids are bullsh*t and we know it.) Not enough? Then just open up your wallet. Take out the single dollar you have and look at it very carefully. That’s not Cupid staring at you, that’s Washington himself, powdered wig and all. And if it is Cupid for some reason, it’s probably one of those fake strip club dollars that can only be redeemed for cheap beer or a sweaty lap dance. Maybe you should spend less time paying for dances and more time honoring the father of our country.
Valentine’s Day is a great time to show your significant other that you care. Or that you don’t. You’re probably getting invited up for post-dinner tea regardless. But just remember, while you were complimenting your date on their fantastic use of zit concealer, George was casually laying down the building blocks of a country that would one day give you the freedom and opportunity to enjoy your romantic night out at Chipotle. And for that, George, we thank you.FOLLOW THE OPEN FIELD