Cupid Must Die 

This is my first Valentine's Day since Mr. Ex and I parted ways. I am not sad, mopey, depressed or any other negative emotion society assumes I am supposed to feel by being alone on this oh-so-romantic day.

Well, I'm not really going to spend it alone. I'll be babysitting a colleague who had her ACL replaced yesterday. Her fiance is out of town, and I offered my companionship for the night. I wouldn't mind spending it alone. But making a lavish dinner of pumpkin-chicken enchiladas, green salad and french silk pie for dessert isn't a bad choice either. She ordered sappy chick flicks from Netflicks. I hate chick flicks, but I'm pretending otherwise for her sake.

So, aside from the fact that I'm not really spending tonight "alone," why am I not forlorn about my solo status today? Because I was never a fan of Valentine's Day to begin with. Created commercial holidays have never appealed much to me. In college, I used to host "Anti-V-Day" parties; my roommates and I would decorate our place with black hearts (some broken, some whole) and decapitated or otherwise wounded cupids. We invited all of our friends with one huge exception: No couples allowed.

It was a blast; everyone had a great time. In fact, one of our friends would make it a point to ensure she was single every V-Day, because she never wanted to miss out the bash. Maybe next year, I'll plan another similar bash for old times' sake...and maybe, I'll even invite Mr. Ex to it -- provided he's not coupled by then.