Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Happy Valentine's Day from Bethville!

I toadily love you.














As a high school-aged person, I HATED Valentine's Day. And I'm not saying "hate" like small children say, "I hate Brussels sprouts!" I'm saying it with the darkest, wickedest forces of evil, so dark and so wicked that Ghengis Khan himself would sit up in his grave and say, "I am getting the fuck out of here" if he heard it. I loathed Valentine's Day, or as I called it back then, "Go Fuck Yourself Day."

Because when you're a high school-aged person, you're past the grade school thing where everybody brings a valentine for everybody else and then you spend the long bus ride home eating Skittles and SweeTarts until you feel like you might explode with deliciousness. High school is the time when the number of Valentine's Day gifts you get is decided less by default and more by being cute and well-liked. Either you are cute and well-liked or you are a toad.

I was a toad.

And I say that with the utmost affection for toads because I happen to think that toads are adorable. When I was a kid, I used to pick them up and walk around with them croaking merrily in my hand (merrily = PUT ME DOWN OR I WILL PEE ON YOU AGAIN). If you looked up the word toad in the dictionary, you would likely discover that I've defaced library property by drawing an enormous strawberry-scented red magic marker heart around it.

But enough about how much I want to make toads my valentine.

I was a generally unhappy high schooler. I had frizzy stupid hair that wouldn't do anything but be an ugly pile of brown steel wool on my head. I wore pants from Wal-Mart. I wore bras two sizes too small because I didn't want to admit that I needed to shop in the women's department. I was crazy insecure and mad about it. All. The. Time. Valentine's Day was my worst nightmare.

I would be sitting in homeroom and the deliveries of flowers and balloons would arrive. The girls would pretend to be surprised that their boyfriends were so thoughtful, and the boys would act embarrassed and hide their carnations under their desks. And I would be sitting there with my nose in some Mary Stewart book (Put your hands up in the air and wave your first edition copy of Nine Coaches Waiting like you just don't care...) pretending I wasn't affected by the love fest going on around me. Really, my insides were all filled with hellfire and bitterness.

I thought that the worst thing that could happen was to be single on Valentine's Day.

But it's not, high school Bethany. (Of course, you can't tell high school Bethany anything. She's just a memory. And plus, she would tell you to shut up anyway.)

The worst thing to happen on Valentine's Day is to not be able to eat any candy. As 2012 Bethany can so painfully tell you. 

But in case time travel is ever invented, enabling me to get this message to high school Bethany, I'm going to lay a few things out for her 1) this contact with you will most definitely cause a tear in the time/space continuum 2) Carol Hathaway and Doug Ross end up together. I know, right??? and 3) Here is some candy from the future. All of the candy that I cannot eat. You eat it.

And as for those of you spending Valentine's Day alone this year, here is this. And fuck that guy/girl who cheated on you, dumped you, or otherwise took a shit into your wide-open mouth. Here is some candy for you too.












And it case I didn't mention it before, toads are awesome.