I was in line at Starbucks the other day and I overheard a conversation (it’s hard not to eavesdrop when you are listening so intently) between two young women discussing what they were expecting to get for Valentine’s Day from their perspective sweethearts. One of them (Vanilla Non Fat Latte) complained to her friend (Passion Tea Lemonade) that her boyfriend “didn’t get her” because he never managed to supply a gift that she wanted. Passion Tea Lemonade advised her that she should stop complaining and reminded her friend that the beleaguered beau was helping to support her while she finished her masters degree. Vanilla Non Fat Latte exclaimed “I guess I’m just a hopeless romantic, I want the mushy love!” Although I was standing behind them, I could visualize Passion Tea Lemonade rolling her eyes. Later, I consulted the font of all wisdom UrbanDictionary.com for a definition of hopeless romantic. “This person is in love with love. They believe in fairy tales and love. They’re not to be confused as stalkers or creepy because that’s not what a hopeless romantic is. All hopeless romantics are idealists,the sentimental dreamers,the imaginative and the fanciful when you get to know them. They often live with rose colored glasses on. They make love look like an art form with all the romantic things they do for their special someone – especially bringing them lots and lots of coffee.”
Okay, I added that last bit in. But is being a hopeless romantic a bad thing? I gotta say yes! Inevitably the object of your affection – being human with failings – will disappoint your idealized version of who he is or who you are. I mean the term hopeless doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence for the prospect of eternal happiness. And therein lies the problem. Love is not all flowers and unicorns and rainbows and daily flower deliveries (although I could get behind hourly coffee service). It’s bringing someone a blanket when their feet are cold. It’s installing a usb outlet because your phone charger is never where you left it last. It’s pumping your gas on a cold night for you because you let it get down to butt-empty yet again. My friend Kay once told me that she always lets her husband know if there is some special item she wants for Christmas because she said “I listened for years to my mother complaining and unhappy about how my dad never got her anything she liked and I didn’t want to spend years with my husband doing the same thing.” Why set up an impossible expectation that a person who you love might not be able to achieve? A-ha! You must not love me because this card isn’t romantic enough, this gift not special enough, you don’t know my size etc…
Meg Ryan’s character in ‘Addicted to Love’ describes it perfectly (in response to Matthew Broderick waxing stupidly on about being a hollow shell): “When I was a kid, my father had this dog that started to get all weak and sickly. He takes it to the vet, he examines it and says a maggot must have laid eggs in the dog’s butt. The baby maggots have crawled up, now they’ve started to grow, and eventually they’re gonna eat the dog alive from the inside. He says it should be put to sleep, because it’s an old dog anyway. But father won’t do it. He takes the dog home, he puts it on the bed, he reaches up into the dog, picking out the maggots with his finger, one by one. It takes him all night, but he gets every last one. That dog outlived my father. That’s love, Sam.”
Indeed.
I know what you mean. Valentine’s Day is a curse from any angle you look at it. If you’re in love then you’re bound to be disappointed. If you’re not in love, you want to smack everyone who is.