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Real Romance Costs Nothing

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By MARY CATHERINE COOLIDGE

Special to the Tribune

Published: February 14, 2009

It's not because I'm single and unattached that Valentine's Day fills me with a kind of internal cringing normally reserved for the sound of nails dragging down a chalkboard. It's not sour grapes or cynicism gone amuck. It's simply that Valentine's Day is, and nearly always has been, a crass, "What the heck am I going to get him or her" competition, that devalues spontaneity, simplicity, romance and - I'm pulling out the big guns here - most of all, love.

Even as a child I never got into the grade school rituals of sending Valentines. You put them into little boxes and everyone ended up counting how many they received in some sort of twisted popularity contest. Now, as adults, it's even worse.

Men are under the gun to perform; but there's not enough Viagra in the world to compensate for the misery men endure in the days leading up to V-Day. One misstep and sleeping on the couch could be the least of your problems.

Women have devised a complicated and tortuous method for decoding every aspect of the attention they receive on Valentine's Day. Flowers rate high, but roses rate highest. As for delivery, for sheer wow factor, she wants them at the office, preferably before 10 a.m. All the better for her colleagues to ooh and ahh over all day long.

Restaurants are good, but pricey French ones are better. Candy doesn't cut it anymore, unless there's a square-cut platinum center. And jewelry is only a hands-down winner if it's an engagement ring. Earrings and pendants may be fine for smug marrieds, but for singletons, giving jewelry of any kind is a dicey proposition if it doesn't come with a proposal.

Poor men. They have to buy flowers, make reservations, suffer (or smile) through ordering from Victoria Secret's catalogs, and learn the Four Cs of diamonds inside and out. Woe to them if the evening isn't splashy, expensive, romantic or sexy enough. It's not about impressing her. It's about impressing them: her friends, her co-workers, her roommate, her mother, her cousin in Little Rock.

I'm not complaining. I've been on the receiving end of some pretty fabulous Valentine's Days.

Like nearly every woman I know, I love to have a fuss made over me every now and then, and I admit, preferably more "now" than "then." Fortunately, I've had a few otherwise dour Feb. 14ths made sublimely lovely by a man who pulled out all the stops.

One man spent hours concocting a handmade card that exploded with confetti the minute I pulled it open. Another waltzed me through snow-heavy, Boston city streets - giving me one whirlwind nuit blanche of romance on high, returning me to my apartment around 5 a.m., exhausted, but thoroughly in love.

Romantic memories, for sure. But let's face it. The day, the night really, is a gazillion-dollar industry, mired in money-making and dollar-dropping, devoid of real sentiment and hopelessly unromantic.

So, here's a message to all the good men and women out there: Take back your romance.

Pull yourself up by your boot or bra straps and boycott buying for Valentine's 2009.

Resist the commercial push, the guilt-driven purchase.

Instead, take that one person who makes your heart race and your brain buzz ... take that person by the hand and go outside.

Stand in the February chill, look up at the stars, then look your beloved straight in the eye. Take a moment. Breathe.

Then bend your head toward his or hers and kiss like there's no tomorrow and no yesterday. Kiss like the first time. One long, slow, deliriously serious, smashingly sensuous kiss. And don't come up for air until that person knows, beyond any reasonable doubt, the promise and passion of your heart.

One kiss, that's all it takes. Completely free. And as any good MasterCard commercial will tell you ... priceless.

Mary Catherine Coolidge is a freelance writer in Sarasota. Her online column can be found at www.mcrealityonline .com.

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