Feb. 14 used to be a great day for equality. Ugly third-graders got as much love as the less-ugly third-graders. Stale chocolates and paper cards were gathered and equally redistributed, regardless of how many cooties the member of the opposite sex had. It was Valentine’s Day socialism, and it worked — for a while.

But soon, puberty hit and the truth emerged: You can’t love everyone as much as everyone else. Eventually, you have to choose whom you’re going to love the most — or, if you’re lucky, Cupid chooses for you.

I decided to go on a fictitious babysitting mission to see what the winged baby truly thinks about Valentine’s Day.

After a quick argument about whether his mom said he could have a cookie (she most certainly did not), I finally got Cupid to calm down and talk to me. It was then, while stacking blocks, that he told me the truth about Valentine’s Day.

What he does first, Cupid told me, is count up all of the single people and writes their names in his little black book. “They don’t have lovers on Feb. 14!” he declares. “Well, in that case, they’re screwed for life!”

Then, every time a single person mentions publicly that they are single, he takes that person’s arrow out of his closet and sharpens it. See, every person has an arrow in Cupid’s closet. On Valentine’s Day, for every status, sad lyric tweet and “forever alone” Tumblr post, he sharpens the tip of the arrow to help the person’s chances of finding someone that sticks.

But I was skeptical about this. Why would being single on one day matter?

“Being single on Valentine’s Day is serious business,” he told me. “The only way to redeem yourself is to get super depressed and let everyone know.” He was always surprised how many people didn’t believe Valentine’s Day really mattered, or passed it off as “just a holiday.”

Now, afraid I wasn’t making the most of this conversation, I asked him about couples on Valentine’s Day.

He told me there appeared to be two options:

The first is to treat Valentine’s Day like a super big deal. Presents forgotten will be punished, and if it’s not something I can Instagram and show my friends, don’t bother giving it. Jewelry is acceptable, flowers are necessary and hey, write me a song, would you? We’ll go on a date and take a picture of it. I’ll wear red and you’ll wear a tie. This is a day to celebrate love, damn it. Don’t you dare screw it up.

The second option is to throw it on the ground. Valentine’s Day is just a socially constructed holiday that puts pressure on couples and encourages consumerism. Hallmark is the Dexter of genuine words: He wraps them in plastic, chops them up into pieces and throws them over his boat. We love each other every day — not just on some day society tells us to love each other.

Cupid said the first type of couple gave him diaper rash, and the second was lame. Thinking the fate of my relationship was on the line, I asked Cupid what I should do.

Suddenly, Cupid burst into tears.

“I’m still a virgin!” he cried. “I’m the symbol of love and I don’t even know what love is.”

(I attempted to explain to the baby the legality of his virginity, but he couldn’t be comforted.)

Eventually, he cried himself to sleep. I sighed, picked him up and put him to bed, disappointed I might never discover the true secret of Valentine’s Day.

Then it occurred to me: If single people get credit for declaring they’re single, I should be rewarded for declaring my relationship status with equal aggressiveness.

When I got home from my fictitious mission, I went to Facebook and quickly added the status: I love you Andrew, to the moon and back.

Ah-ha! Guess who just got their arrow sharpened, b*tches?

Better luck next year, I just won Valentine’s Day.

Published on February 13, 2013 at 8:29 pm

Contact Sarah: seschust@syr.edu