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Writer's pictureSarah Lynch

Cash Monèt

I actually used to like Valentines day.


When I was a kid and you made your homemade little shoebox for your classmates to throw a store-bought sentiment and some candy into.


My dad and I got insanely creative for a couple of years. We made one that looked like a robot. And the best one was a covered wagon with working wheels.


And everybody got something. You weren't allowed to skip over someone because you didn't like them. Everybody got a little card and a snack size Twix.


But then I got older and started to notice the discrepancies. Some kid's parents would show up with massive, extravagant gifts. Toys and balloons and bouquets and desserts. And it had to be during school hours. As if these parents had to prove to the entire student body that they loved their kid more than your parents loved you.


We never did anything extravagant for Valentines day in my household. Usually my parents would track down the funniest cards they could find to give each other. And that was enough. Sometimes when my dad picked me up from school he'd bring me a Texas doughnut the size of my head with the festive sprinkles. They were only about three dollars at the grocery store near our house, but something about it being the size of your face made it so much sweeter than a regular-sized doughnut.


I don't understand why it's important to express that you give a shit by spending money on overpriced, gaudy gifts. Flowers that die in a couple of days. A fancy dinner in a crowded restaurant filled with other people that, for some reason, have a deep need to go out and spend hours waiting for a seat so they can order the same food they would get in half the time if they just went tomorrow.


Just stay in. Pick up some gas station doughnuts. Hug your pets. Tell your grandma you think she's cool.


I guess it's not socially acceptable to tell people you love them unless Hallmark says so. But maybe skip emptying your wallet and remember to tell people you care tomorrow.

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