Dear Saint Valentine,
I know, I know—this is hard to read while spinning in your grave.
First of all, no one really knows anything about you—whether you were just one person, or series of martyrs—it's a mystery to us all. I
Wikipedia'd you and and everything.
I just wanted to write a quick note to thank you for letting us exploit your name. As you are aware, we use it to sell lingerie, diamonds and candy. We use it to sell reservations at fancy (or not so much) restaurants. We use your name to
sell love—one day a year.
(Don't get me wrong, I love lingerie and chocolate—I'm wearing both at the time of this writing.)
It's such a great name:
Valentine. It just rolls off the tongue. Couldn't it be
Valentine's Life? Couldn't we just make each other cute little cards all the time? Couldn't we just have a romantic evening on a Thursday or Tuesday?
It is a little sad that your day, as beautiful as it is, serves more to let us off the hook for the other 364 days of the year.
If this
Valentine's Life deal pulls through, we could still celebrate February 14th with an UnValentine's Day, in which our day jobs and TV can be our priorities.
Sincerely,
Brian
