And Just Like That...Your Relationship? Over!
The St. Valentine's Day Massacre Is Almost Upon Us: Be On Alert
You want science? Theory? Statistical accuracy? Sure, sure, sure.
How about this though: you just make believe all of that stuff is here, just in the name of being able to labor on in the belief that I'm not out of my mind, and we'll all be a lot better off, ok? Especially since what I'm about to tell you might just save your life.
Or rather: the portion of your life having to do with your private parts.
And yeah, I'm just the sort that you want to trust with your private parts.
The reality though is, this is the worst time of the year for your relationship and if you can make it through the next three weeks without having to talk about it in past tense you, in all likelihood, will have me to thank. Me, the guy you can trust with your private parts (I get paid per “private part” reference).
But let me explain.
I was at a party. The circumstances might be under dispute but a woman walked by me in a gold glitter jacket in a circumstance where not only were gold glitter jackets not super common, but one in which I might have been especially susceptible to the allure of such a thing. A thing that was shining. Gold. Sparkling, really. Sort of, really kind of, lighting up the night sky like a mirror ball of golden starlight, as it were.
Which is to say, I was roasted.
[T]he sardonically titled Thanksgiving, I discovered, is just the beginning of the cycle of enduring horror that kills relationships dead.
Put whatever moth-flame thing here works best for you, I had to talk to her and talk to her I did. For hours, until she begged off, finally telling me that “you have the most interesting ideas.” We had made plans to later meet and so it was that I met Linda.
It was October and a stuttering romance was unfolding. We were also wending our way toward the end of November, and what ultimately would be an invitation to her parents for Thanksgiving. Turkey, football, conversation. Something I easily imagined I could pull off.
But then: “we sort of do it formally.” She meant as in formal. As in no engineer boots, leather jackets, or homemade t-shirts that said “Fuck It” across the front. Which, back then, if I had any other clothes I don’t remember them. Something I told her. The upshot? Turkey franks and Top Ramen, alone, in the unheated trailer room I had called home.
The bigger upshot: the sardonically titled Thanksgiving, I discovered, is just the beginning of the cycle of enduring horror that kills relationships dead.
And while you’d like to believe I am making this up I am absolutely not making this up. Psychologist Dr. Dorree Lynn told ABC News after a study of thousands of Facebook messages that December, a scant few days after Thanksgiving, is the month when most of us are likely to get dumped. And December 11th? The day it’s likeliest to happen on.
But if Dr. Lynn wants to go micro then I’m totally OK going macro and so I’ll tell you that the rocky shoals, the Scylla and Charybdis for lovers not only has its origin, at least in the U.S., on Thanksgiving, it finds its bitter terminus, unscientifically speaking, on Valentine’s Day.
And despite Spring being thought to be the season that’s responsible for turning a young man’s fancies (and everyone else’s we imagine) to thoughts of love, according to a UK study based on an analysis of birth records, December is the month when we’re both the horniest and the most fertile. Specifically? You got it: December 11th.
[I]f your deal is still not dead yet, then there’s the silent killer: Valentine’s Day.
So as we cruise toward Thanksgiving our bodies are having a multitude of silent conversations, with themselves and with each other, concerning where “this thing” is going? Do I want to go there with him/her/they/them? And most significantly: enough to subject them to Thanksgiving Dinner at the folk’s house?
On the chance that you actually make it through Thanksgiving then there is the Christmas/Hanukah thing. If you’re staggering, damage-free from all of that enforced OK-idness, there’s the flight of stairs called New Year’s Eve, and if your deal is still not dead yet, then there’s the silent killer: Valentine’s Day.
Do too much Valentining on Valentine’s Day and it reeks, absolutely stinks, of desperation. Too little and you will pay. And the right amount — and this is the best part — no one knows.
The good news is if you make it through/past/over Valentine’s Day, you have nine months of relatively smooth sailing. Nine months. NINE. Incidentally the exact amount of time it takes to give birth to a full term human infant. Which, yeah, is probably a total coincidence.
Now if you’re wanting a drill down on why and how this is so, I’ll say that while I’m not 100 percent sure (but reasonably enough to write it here), that it’s because dissonance destroys.
In other words we can talk ourselves into lots of things — the Dallas Cowboys are a good football team, the Red Hot Chili Peppers don’t suck — but some talk is a bridge too far. And even if it is not too far, to do it on Thanksgiving, Xmas, New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s Day is really pushing it.
I say this all to not rain on your parades but by way of warning. A warning that you’ll ignore at your own peril.
How to beat it? Simple, since the best defense is a good offense, attack all of these holidays the month before, effectively metric system-ing your calendar year.
Go crazy on Halloween, the sexy bridge to Thanksgiving, so you can skate by Thanksgiving. Immediately followed by a lovebombing weeks before Christmas. Hanukah is a little harder to account for, what with its shifting start date, but you can do it.
New Year’s Eve is easy, what with the ready availability of the liquors of forgetfulness, and then hit Valentine’s Day on February first with a trip or jewelry because you were “so excited” about it that you just couldn’t wait.
You do this? You may defeat the biological imperatives that stand to ruin your lazy ass attempts to live life on your own terms.
In any case…at some point in the future, if you’ve read this far, know that with the proper prodding I might be convinced to cover “pre-partum panic” and its connection to criminality. Or…how small penises led to World War 2.
All statistically valid. All totally true. All here. All the time.
And, just my way of saying: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!