PLEASE DON’T BE MY VALENTINE

By Chad Morris

I love Valentine’s day, but there are some things about it that just don’t make much sense to me.

For example, people give away cards and little candy hearts that say, “Will you be my Valentine?” Should we really be asking people this? Wasn’t Valentine a saint who was killed in the second or third century? No offense to him, but I’m really not keen on inviting a beautiful girl to be my ancient dead man. If I’m going for romance, it just seems counterproductive.

Also, cupid is strange. I can’t quite understand how a little naked boy with a bow, arrows, and wings symbolizes love. My guess is that a female invented him. Women think little naked children are sooooo cute. You don’t remember your dad running to get the camera while little toddler you was naked in the tub. In fact, you probably don’t remember your mom running to get the camera either. Hopefully you were so young that you don’t remember anything about the whole incident. If it weren’t for those pesky scrapbooks, you’d finally be able to forget the whole thing—which would really cut down on the therapy bills.

Somehow, a woman made cupid up and he stuck. I, for one, feel sorry for him. I know that if I were him, helping others fall in love probably wouldn’t be my biggest concern. Flying to the nearest department store for some pants would be higher on my priority list—especially in February. 

Oh, and in completely unrelated news . . .  I'll post Marion Jensen's road to national publishdom (yes, it's a word) on Thursday.