I am always on the lookout for a sign, the one letting me know that true love is around the bend. I turned a corner on Highway 50 the other day and encountered a huge sign on the marquee of one of the capital city's ubiquitous pawn shops: "Don't forget Valentine's Day."
That wasn't my sign. That sign was written for a man, because there is not a single person on this planet with a vagina and a pulse who needs that reminder. I'm pretty sure it's part of our genetic code.
Two and 14 are numbers that are as easy for us to spout off as our age and weight. (Both our actual age and the one we tell men in bars, and our actual weight and what it says on our driver's licenses.)
And as much as we women are a product of our genetics, we are also a product of the commercials that tell us that if we don't receive $37 worth of greeting cards and the "free" stuffed animal, we are unloved.
You know, the commercials that tell us "a diamond is forever," like an STD. (Incidentally, most women I know have actually been given one of those more often than they have gotten something sparkly.)
That diamond is forever, of course until she finds you in bed with a 20-year-old and sells it to that pawn shop with the big sign for less than you paid for last night's beer and pizza.
It is because of those commercials and store signs that men should actually appreciate Valentine's Day more than women. And this is why: There are no hidden messages, like when she asks how she looks in her new jeans, and what she really wants to know is if you can tell that she's the one who's been drinking beer and eating pizza.
It's simple " if you want her to be open for business, open your eyes and pay attention to any of the businesses advertising all things shiny and pink, because we are.
And it isn't a conspiracy that women have created with the industry that makes us want to lie about our ages and weight in the first place. I personally would never align myself with the marketing giants that tell me no one will love me unless I am prepared to starve myself while having Botox injected into my forehead.
We are always looking for signs that we are loved. That's why size matters to us on Valentine's Day, and the bigger your gesture, the better.
It is our day in the office to compare whose is bigger " the bouquets, the box of chocolates, the bling. And just so you know, a piece of stolen jewelry that someone hocked to support their meth habit probably won't cut it.
If you think you can't handle a bigger credit card bill next month, know that you just might be handling yourself for awhile.
St. Valentine would have approved. He was the ultimate bachelor, advocating that men stay single because those who were married made poor soldiers.
Oh yeah, then he was beheaded.
So, if you intend for your head to be handled delicately, suck it up and give into the hype for one day a year. It is a small price to pay, considering the thousands of dollars we spend waxing, weaving, and sucking it up for you the 364 others.
- Tanya Whiteman is a Carson City resident on the front lines of the dating scene. Contact Tanya through reporter Jarid Shipley at firstname.lastname@example.org or 881-1217.