This is a message for every zales, de beers, kay jewelers, whitmans chocolate, hallmark, pajama care package (???), victoria's secret and any other ads coming on right now...
Every kiss does NOT begin with Kay. Maybe you don't realize how shallow that is, but it's the same as saying a woman will only love you if you buy her a new expensive shiny rock every february, birthday, christmas, easter, grandparents day and groundhogs day. I'm sick of the chocolate commercials with "real life anecdotes" by "real life people off the street" saying things like "Oh honey if he don't get me chocolate on valentine's day he sleepin' on the couch!" Who are you? Are you serious? Do people like that exist?
And okay you beautiful fucking foreign models, I couldn't give less of a fuck about your first kiss. It wouldn't be as bad if you weren't telling me while you're in your fucking $200 one-foot of lingirie. I don't care that your teeth clicked together the first time! Oh heeeheee that makes me relate to you because it means you're human! NO you're not fucking human, your a goddamn veela and I don't ever want to look at you again.
Zales, am I to be led to believe that I won't have a long life with my husband worth looking back on unless he shells out 6 months paycheck on a fucking see-through stone every year? Thank you for ruining a song that was one very near and dear to mine and many other girls' hearts. 1000 Miles used to remind me of a girl on a happy traveling piano and a song about true love but now it just reminds me of WHORISH CONSUMERISM.
I don't know for sure, but I believe that Valentine's Day may have once stood for love, a bond, an eternal flame kept secretly between you and another. But now all it means is COME BUY CRAP FOR YOUR LOVED ONE THAT IS WORTH 1/1,000 OF WHAT YOU PAY FOR IT. Oh and those of you with no one to celebrate this glorious holiday with, just spend the first month and a half of the year crying/gagging into your pillow every time you walk by the painted-entirely-red section of HEB. Quick, come get your HALMARK! No really, come get it. If it's not Halmark they'll know and they'll hate you. That's what the commercials always blatantly said, anyway. If you give them a home-made coupon for a night of intimate pampering but you DON'T get them a cliche, bland heart-shaped box of confectionaries... BRING A PILLOW INTO THE LIVING ROOM, MOTHAFUCKA!
Call me bitter. Do it. I am bitter, I'm the first to admit it. Could be that it has something to do with my 19-straight years of having no valentine. But something tells me that even when I'm married with grandchildren I'll still gag at the sight of fucking "be mine" candy hearts.