Valentine’s Day is Killing Me

Do women really compare Valentine’s Day trophies at their workplaces, gloating when they receive roses, diamonds, or chocolate, and sinking into depression and humiliation if they don’t have an attentive boyfriend or husband? I’ve never seen this (perhaps I just haven’t worked at the right places), but I can vouch for the general cluelessness of many men. The store where I work was closed for remodeling last winter, and I spent many hours sitting at a kiosk in front of it, explaining the situation to panicked customers who thought we might be closed forever. I happened to be sitting there on Valentine’s night (my own husband was out of town anyway), and I’ve never seen so many desperate men in one place. My co-worker and I alternately directed them to Hallmark and various jewelry stores (and had to tell at least two or three that the mall had no florist). Clearly they were all in the doghouse, and trying desperately to get out of it. Such are the expectations of women on Valentine’s Day, and, at least sometimes, the inadequacy of men. The stories in Valentine’s Day is Killing Me all address Valentines expectations to some extent, and all feature V-Days that go just a bit wrong.