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As I stood in a grocery store checkout line at 9:30 p.m. last February 13, it suddenly struck me: There's only one thing worse than not having a boyfriend on Valentine's Day—actually having one!
You see, single women without a romantic interest on this day of love are only miserable for one flowerless day (a misery usually conquered by large quantities of after-holiday half-price Valentine's Day candy). But when you do have someone special in your life, you have a sleep-depriving, nail-biting decision—with relationship-making or -breaking ramifications—ahead: what to give this semi-significant other.
For single people, it's not just buying a gift, it's making a statement. For example, if a guy simply buys me a card, I know we're doomed. If he buys me a diamond necklace, I'm mentally picking out our china pattern. In some ways, holidays provide a rare glimpse into the status of a relationship—information I usually have to pry out of my current flame in a slow and sometimes painful process.
Unfortunately, the stress of selecting a Valentine's Day gift is lopsided. Men have it easy: If they give any form of chocolate, they're right up there with Mel Gibson or "Superman" Dean Cain. A guy could give me chocolate in the shape of a station wagon (life-size, preferably) and I'd swoon at his romantic display. Then there's the whole "language of flowers" thing. Guys have it literally spelled out for them. A red rose means "I love you." A yellow rose communicates friendship. It couldn't get much easier.
But where is the male equivalent to flowerlanguage? Does the latest CD from his favorite group say "You're sweet"? Or does a power saw say "I'm crazy about you"? Without a universally recognized gift-giving language, a woman's left to second-guess what signals she's sending … and he's receiving.
It's all the symbolism and sentiment wrapped up in Valentine's Day gifts that often create so much stress. I learned this the hard way last year when I bought a pair of boxer shorts with glow-in-the-dark hearts on them for the guy I was dating at the time. He'd told me he collected funny boxer shorts, and I thought these were too funny to pass up.
But when I casually mentioned my gift to my coworkers—good Christian friends—on Valentine's Day eve, they responded with raised eyebrows. "But that's underwear," they informed me, explaining my gift had a meaning they didn't want to get into and they hoped I wasn't trying to convey.
The last thing I wanted to do was communicate something suggestive, so I thanked my friends for their intervention, decided to stuff the boxers in the back of a drawer as soon as I got home so no one else would be privy to my near-miss romantic faux pas, and escaped to my office to panic. Unfortunately, I had an after-work commitment that tied me up until 9 p.m., so with no real time left for shopping, I was desperate. My mind raced from one rotten gift idea to another, reducing me to a sweaty-palmed basket case frantically brainstorming Romantic Plan B.
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