It is Valentine's Day. You have got a large pink envelope with a lurid red heart on the cover. Clearly, you are in the game and there is many a lad or lady, as the case may be, who is keen on securing your affections. Your heart beating a little faster you tear it open. It is schmaltzy in the extreme, asking you to be 'my Valentine'. Delirious, you look down at the name of the sender. If this message has come to you on your phone, you scroll down eagerly to know who thinks that you are worth a bit more than you thought. You discover to your mortification that it is your grocer, or your friendly colleague, or your hairdresser, or your florist, or the pesky individual who is trying to get your custom at the bank.
Ah, well, as with all great traditions, this way goes Valentine's Day when only those in or wishing for an intimate relationship addressed the other person to ask whether or not that individual would be their Valentine. Please don't get us wrong, we believe in celebrating all occasions, howsoever inappropriate. So we send Halloween's greetings in a joyous manner even though that festival is very much darker than that. It is our wont to celebrate all days, whether or not they are tinged with sorrow or not. We feel that we should not be such conformists and we should devise our own celebrations. For example, at the risk of getting the pink slip on Valentine's Day, we could observe every other Monday as a day of contemplation of things to come, something we editorial writers direly need.
This could be given a suitable name by a clever marketing ferret and could even make us productive and rich. But don't let us spoil it for you. Your local gym instructor may not quite be smitten by your looks when he or she sent you that card. As long as their heart is in the task at hand, why should you complain? Everything goes in the heart mart now. Happy Valentine's Day.