Valentine’s Day these days is either an opportunity for your boyfriend to fuck up or an opportunity for you to feel confident that the guy you’re talking to at the bar this Saturday night is truly single.
But we all remember the golden days when this oh so romantic ‘holiday’ wasn’t so cut and dry. A time when manipulation, encryption, and love triangle drama was at an all time high. I’m talking about Valentine’s Day in elementary school, the golden days for Hallmark’s very own marketing miracle.
It all began with the process of addressing your valentines. You had to make sure that all your besties got the biggest valentine’s with the best princesses on them, along with whomever you decided you were dating that week. Your arch-nemesis got the small shitty card with Jasmine on it, along with the bro you were trying to hint at to back off. That’ll teach them, for sure.
When the big day finally arrived, it was fucking sweet purely due to the fact that you got to take a much-needed break from coloring and phonics to rage hard at your own desk from recess onward. It was the closest thing to Vegas bottle service you ever got to experience before you were 21 (or whenever your fake came in the mail). You’d just sit there, shoebox that your nanny decorated placed proudly on your desk, and wait for all the bitches to come to you.
The most important part of V Day by far though was going through all your valentine’s and comparing with your main betches who got what card from which boy. If you got a Pokémon valentine from one of your main boyfriends that said “best buds forever,” you knew you were friend zoned and that it was over. On the other hand, if your DL crush sent you over a Spiderman card that said “You’re a great catch, Valentine!” then it was a sign that it was time to make a move i.e. initiate a game of tag with him on the playground. Or, if you got a handmade valentine that none of your friends got, you knew things were getting very fucking serious between you and Kyle and you should maybe ask your Mom if you could get a training bra.
It never occurred to any of the 9-year-old betches that all the boy’s valentines were addressed in their mom’s handwriting and who got what card was essentially meaningless. Thank God though, because stirring up non-existing drama always relieved third grade boredom, and besides, if you're going to be a delusional dater, it's better to get it out of your system before grade 5.