Dear Ms. Valentine,

When I was a little girl, your visits were a pretty big deal around my household.  I remember you showing up with your round face and soft curves.  Your pink bag and your shimmery earrings.  Your soft red curls fell perfectly around your face.  I always spent time in the mirror after you came around, trying to mimic your perfect pink heart-shaped pout.  You inspired us - pink and red shirts, socks, and hair accessories were the thing!  Little presents and love notes from mom and dad, probably a special craft project, and certainly a special breakfast!  I loved you so much.  Mostly because you loved me.  You made me feel so special!

In middle school you changed, just like so many of my other friends from elementary school.  You got all sexy.  And kind of aloof.  You were worried about popularity; who fit and who didn’t.  One time, I noticed that you started pulling those curls back into a severe twist.  The peach stain on your lips was replaced by a deep red shiny gloss.  And as I leaned into to greet you, I was certain that you had been doing a strict routine of pilates because what was once a soft bosom, was a rock solid physique, pushed into a lace bustier (I saw it poking out from your blouse).

I was not as comfortable with you as I once was.  Our conversations were awkward.  You seemed distracted and disinterested in me.  It was like you were judging me.   Things at school changed too, when you came to town.  Candy-grams were distributed during class, announcing to the world whether or not one was loved and accepted by many.  I was normally the girl that fell into the “or not” category.  You became yet another measuring rod that reminded me that I did not measure up.  So, thank you for that.  And in fact, I am sure my therapist thanks you too.  Very subtly, you told me all sorts of thing about my worth and beauty that are now paying for his third child to go to college.

Throughout college and my early 20’s, I didn’t need any reminders that I was single, but you came around each year, just in case, with a blank spread sheet that you used to keep track of all of my dates and boyfriends. You have always been reliable like that.

I will be honest Val, by the time Herb and I started dating, I was ready for a little retribution.  You would think that by that point I would be completely fed up with your nonsense.  The way you break people down into two groups - loved and unloved.  Together and alone.  The way your perky breasts make the rest of us feel inadequate and unsexy .  You are everything I am against.  But I didn’t care.  I was ready to dive into your pit of pink teddy bears holding hearts that say “I love you”.  (Though, let’s be honest, I was expecting something much classier from Herb Harjes!)

Herb tried to make our day together special.  He took me to California to meet a very special relative in her 90’s.  Before we left, he gave me a gorgeous hand blown glass vase by a local artist.  He filled it with rocks from a nearby river, flowers, and little pictures of me on that were wired into the bouquet.  He even wired in a poem by Maya Angelou and a note from himself.  I made him a little book about our love story and bought him some tickets to see Mark Cohn (who we saw on our third date together).  To me, these things are incredibly sweet; beautiful gifts from our hearts.  Messages to the other that say, “I want you in my world”.

But once we were in California, you showed up and ruined everything!   Seriously.  The nerve!  To come around like that, on my first time as an adult to celebrate your visit, and you tell me it does not count.  You rubbed it in my face that once again, I was not good enough. That if he really loved me, he would have done more.  On our way back to his Great Aunt’s home for a 6 PM pot roast and Wheel of Fortune, we drove by a restaurant.  People were walking in, all decked out and looking nice for their plus one.  Herb said, “AHH, look at all those amateurs - out for Valentines Day.”

My heart was crushed.

You sat there, next to me, and told me that it was not enough.   That I was not enough.  I listened to you sneer in my ear.  I wanted nothing more than to be wearing a cocktail dress and walking into that restaurant. I had been waiting over a decade for this.  I got quiet.  I may have teared up a little bit.  “I don’t think they’re silly.  I think it is nice.”  Aching heart.

I explained how much I had been looking forward to your visit, Val.  Everything I had hoped to do and feel while you were in town.  Herb felt horrible.  After we spent some time with his family, we went out for wings and some beers to sort of “make up for things”.  You were there too, dressed completely inappropriately for a bar, in your clingy red dress with that dreadful neckline.  And as you silently sipped your white wine spritzer, you occasionally caught my eye and laughed.

Ever since then, we both feel ourselves getting nervous around February first, when we know you are preparing for your visit.   You messed us up, Val.  Herb feels pressure to host you in our home, even though he does not understand you.  And I am dying to be wooed and charmed by my man.  Every time you send me your check list of things he has to do in order to prove his love, I wilt with disappointment.  So it should come as no surprise that he gets worried about disappointing; not being able to live up to my expectations.  Or rather, your expectations.  And silly as it may be for a grown woman, I get nervous that once again, you, a lusty beast of a love barometer will determine that I am not lovable.

Sincerely,
Cara Harjes