There’s a song from a quasi-Britpop band of my youth that I always remember the refrain of, every year on the day: “Stay out of my way/On Valentines Day,” it went, oh so jauntily. I can’t remember why such a warning was being made — perhaps there was comedic disaster around the corner? — but for me, the overwrought romance or bust nature of the day has always seemed a little overwhelming, and a little desperate.
To confess that almost feels dangerous, as if I’m saying that I have no time for romance, when the opposite is the case. And yet, I don’t like thus holiday and never have. If that makes me a Love Curmudgeon, then so be it.