Dear Couples,
I get it. And if I were in your position I would probably be behaving the same way, but I’m not, which is the whole point of this bitter diatribe. The thing is that you probably don’t even realize you’re doing anything, which makes it worse. On this day of all days, I am mad solely at your existence. Which is actually quite an accomplishment.
I know you’re the “Lucky Ones” Lana Del Rey has been telling me so much about, you future “I met my spouse at Penn” button–wearers. But really, is it necessary to flaunt it? To make out with each other outside my classes? To send each other candygrams? To wear those goddamn gloves meant for holding hands right in front of me? Show some respect. While you’re off in Happy Couple Love Fun Time Land, you know how I’m going to be spending my Valentine’s Day? Making sweet, sweet love to my Wawa meatball grinder. It’s a love story, baby, just say yes.
You know how they say there’s Mother’s Day and Father’s Day but no Child’s Day because every day is Child’s Day? That’s how I feel about Valentine’s Day. Every day is a day for couples to be happy, so why do we need an extra day to celebrate it? Where’s the day for resentful, lonely singles? I want a day where I’m encouraged to sit in my pajamas and watch Netflix while eating a dozen Insomnia Cookies by myself. Who’s the patron saint of that?
So, couples, today I invite you to think. Not of your significant others or about the totally awesome dinner you’ll be having tonight or the sex which will likely follow, but of me. And all the other sad, lonely people that will be buying discount chocolate at CVS tomorrow. Maybe then you’ll hold off on shoving your happiness in my face. At least until February 15th.
Sincerely,
Bitter Betty
