Valentine's Day Massacre

Well, its been about two weeks since Valentine's Day and my ribs are just now recovering from the beating I took in the card store. There were two or three women who were also shopping for cards and between them they worked me over like Wilt Chaimberlain boxing out for a rebound. Every time I went for a card on the rack I would be nudged over, stepped in front of, and outright elbowed out of the way! When you throw in the annoyed sidelong glances and frustrated sighs, I was about as welcome as Brian McNamee and a Clemens family reunion. I don't mean to generalize (ok, maybe I do), but women are like surgeons when standing at a card rack - every move is calculated, precise, and purposeful. They move around one another like they can read each other's mind, and apparently, I was completely screwing up their routine. But women have a distinct advantage at a card rack that men don't have - cards writers write all of their cards for women. That is true of most holidays and occasions, but it is especially true on Valentine's Day.

I could have been at that card rack for four days and read every single card in there, but as a man, I am left with two choices by the Card-Writers of America: a four page Shakespearean love sonnet that no man from the last 300 years would actually say out loud, or a variation on the following theme: "I am a no-good, lousy-dressing, out-of-shape, lay-about, do-nothing, loser that doesn't deserve you, but since I acknowledge that fact in a corny card once a year on a made up holiday, everything is ok." That's it, those are my two choices. I am either an effeminate, emasculated sap, or an oafish loser who depends completely on his wife for every basic need. Thanks greeting card industry for that Hobson's Choice, really appreciate your efforts here. Feeling really manly in a card store to begin with, so thanks for that final knee to the groin. Next time throw in an ax murderer theme too, and maybe a thumb-sucking imbecile, so I can branch out in my greeting card persona. Are there any normal human beings who write greeting cards? Do they really believe that guys fall into one of these two categories? I know that greeting card people pander to the type of people who find Ziggy amusingly relevant, but come on! Throw me a small bone here.

And what about the recipient of these cards? I would be completely insulted if I were a woman and received one of these cards. I want to meet (actually, maybe I don't) the woman who actually enjoys receiving the four page sappy sonnet card. First of all, the prose is throw-up inducing awful, and whoever sits around and writes it should be taken out back and beaten. And second, do the women who receive them honestly believe that the guy put any thought whatsoever into reading all of them and then picking out the throw-up inducing one that best summarizes how he feels about her? Do women actually read the card and think to themselves, "wow, he must really care about me and our relationship." Are some women really that dumb? No guy has ever read more than two lines of one of these cards. Most of it is written in tiny, flowy cursive anyway and who's eyes don't glaze over after one or two sentences of tiny, flowy cursive? No, he just picked the one that looked nice with the lace doily border and red envelope, went over to the next aisle and picked out a box of year-old heart-shaped chocolates and was out the door in 45 seconds. I guarantee you that he put more thought into his lunch order that day than he did picking out that card.

And what if a woman received a card from door number two (the "I'm and idiot" card)? If I were a woman reading this a light bulb would go off - woman thinking to herself as she's reading the card: "You know, you really are a loser. I can't believe I actually married you. I'm calling a lawyer first thing tomorrow- after I get my nice dinner at a fancy restaurant. And thanks for the chocolate, I've only been trying to lose this last ten pounds of baby weight for a year and a half, this should help."

So, if those are my two choices next year I'm going to save my ribs - and my psyche - another beating and do what any normal guy does under the circumstances: buy her a piece of jewelry and have my kids make a card.