Tainted Love

We were sitting around a table, drinking and eating pizza. There was music on in another room. Their daughter, a very cute one and a half year old, was asleep.

We were talking about love. It was very Raymond Carver of us.

We all told stories about acts of love. The grand gestures are extinct, I said. But then Chi told a story she'd heard from a friend of a friend. Once upon a time, at the end of a good date, a couple who'd been dating for a year or so went to bed. And then the man asked his girlfriend if he could screw her armpit.

The gestures are not dead, I said.

Ooooo, baby, let me get some of that dry socket action, Timmy said.

After that, no one could speak. The tears crested our eyelids and ran down our cheeks. We were laughing so hard the dog ran to each of us, worried about our well-being.

When we calmed down, I said I hated Valentine's Day. That it was just a set up for weight gain, disappointment, or armpit debauchery.

Chi said, Valentine's Day is a holiday aimed at the wallets of couples and the depression-strings in single people.

I poured more wine. We all ate more pizza. I played Devil's Advocate, saying maybe I was wrong, maybe it was kind of nice, to have one day to celebrate love in the world. So much seems dedicated to tearing it down, especially for queer people.

Timmy said, Valentine's day is just a stupid holiday between Christmas and Easter.

Oh, no, I said. That makes it the taint of holidays.