Last blog, I dangled the promise of writing about Chrissie Hynde, or “C. Hynde,” as Jon Gildersleeve was wont to call her.
I never renege on a promise (which can be its own albatross, betimes), so in due course I will spill the beans on C. Hynde & her indelible effect on the weird trajectory of my life.
First, I want to get this Valentine’s Day thing off my weary chest: in my opinion, as a concept, it’s a cute notion -- to celebrate romantic love and all its trappings, especially chocolate, kisses, and champagne. Yes, it’s an overly commercialized holiday and one designed to make money for some (luxury item merchants, florists, chocolatiers, restaurateurs, card shops, musicians), and what’s wrong with that? We’re in America, so come on!
But in my personal experience, this hearts-and-flowers holiday has been kind of overrated. The expectations were always too high, and things always went tragicomically asunder that day when in a rocky relationship. And, come to think of it, maybe half my life my romantic relationships were rocky; the conflict-ridden ones are the only ones worth mention in print because otherwise, it’s just boringly “nice” and what fun is that to hear about?
Looking back (sigh), I realize I had a lot of anger and independence in me. Instead of walking slowly, hand in hand, quietly musing or laughing, I’d be quick to walk ahead, quick to anger, and quick to take offense, imagined or no. Even my keen sense of humor didn’t save me at times from my inner demon(s).
OK, so if you got a cookbook from your boyfriend of three years called “Single Servings: Cooking for One,” would that infuriate you & hurt your feelings, deeply? Especially after nobody said, “Hey, Single Servings -- isn’t that funny? Ha ha ha!” to show that it was a joke?
And how about the time I got a roomful of red roses and lavender lilacs, and several big, sappy cards -- only to be called up at three in the morning from that same guy, in a strip club, getting loaded with lapdancers?
I rest my case. So early in life, many was the time I’d flinch when the Valentine’s Day holiday came up. My mom and sister always sent me Valentine’s Cards, back in the day (and to this day, my true blue boyfriends always would, & my husband always does remember to sign & send a card that’s appropriately humorous or schmaltzy. . . )
Being taken out for a nice dinner, drinking champagne, and eating chocolate is great (in moderation), but as I was anorexic for quite some time, that was nigh impossible. So hey, call me lil’ Ms. Crankypants. . . and yes, I’ve mellowed out considerably, since.
My husband calls life with me “An Adventure” -- and I’m much more cuddly, much sweeter, now *-)
And -- I didn’t marry until I was 50. So now, Valentine’s is just fine, thank you. Nowadays, on that day, I go out and make as much money as possible -- and celebrate romantic love on a less commercial, crowded night!
Now that I’ve gone on and punctured myths about romantic love -- on to Chrissie Hynde! You’ve waited patiently enough. . .