Virgin Humor

Last night I got all spunky and decided to take a trip down memory lane.

 

A long trip, because I’ve suddenly realize I’m darn close to the 20 year mark for the first time I ever had my writing published. It was my virgin humor piece, I spent my time writing hard news and light feature stories… and now I spend my time writing humor and an occasional “how-to.”

 

My, oh my, how life changes.

 

(How did that happen? Three weeks ago I blinked and scooted from going off to college to living in a mousehole with three dogs, three kids and the love of my life.)

 

(Come to think of it, I’m not sure the square footage is much different. Sigh.)

 

So I did a Google search for my name and re-read all the articles Ipublished with my college newspaper. I even found my name on the American Legion High School Oratorical Contest state winners list!

 

I then freaked out and decided to stop participating in society so the intellisearch people couldn’t tell anyone with fingers capable of typing mobility and insatiable curiousity my three closest relatives and last three addresses. That was scary. Very scary.

 

After I decided to continue with my internet ways because, well, let’s face it, I have a facebook addiction and a laptop I love as much as one of my children, I did a dandy cut and paste of the first humor piece I ever wrote.

 

Here it is, for your viewing pleasure, more than a decade old (I should mention I almost included my staff picture, then decided the internet world already knows too much, they don’t need to have my bouffant ’90s hairdo associated with StealingFaith!):

 

A Hearty “No!” To Valentine’s Day

 

He stands at my door with a dozen – no, two dozen – deep, red roses that are so perfectly formed they could win a blue ribbon in the county fair horticulture division. As I sit there with my arms filled with fragrant roses, he drops down on one knee to pledge his eternal devotion to me and my beautiful eyes, charming nose, sensuous lips and dazzling body – not to mention witty personality and astounding intellect.

 

As if.

 

I am boycotting Valentine’s Day. I label it as a holiday where normally sane people go crazy, lose their self-respect and think that life will be much nicer when they are happily hooked up. Can you tell I’m single?

 

There is a frenzy of goodwill rocketing around the world during the month of February. People are especially nice to one another. The exchange rate of gold on the stock market probably increases as lovers try to outdo each other in an excess of giving. More hearts are broken during this month than in all others combined.

 

Pink and red decorate the stores everywhere. Was I the only person whose mother taught the rules of complimentary colors? (“No, honey, red and pink fight with each other – see, they aren’t across from each other on the color wheel.”) Not only are you visually assaulted by a hideous color combination (one that would never work if people were actually looking at what they were seeing instead of wandering around with a dazed, glassy-eyed stare), but you are emotionally assaulted by your coupled friends and their explosions of slap-happy affection. Please, enough already!

 

But no. Everything is geared toward love. What is love anyway? That sickening feeling in your stomach that makes you wonder if you’re constipated? It can’t be – there would be a lot more bathrooms in this world if that were the case.

 

Stores try to brainwash the customer into buying something “love-ly.” I found myself in Hallmark reading mushy poetry and wishing for Prince Charming and a nice white horse, tears and snot running down my face. As the perky (probably coupled) Hallmark customer satisfaction representative approached me with a Kleenex, I nearly drowned in a puddle of despair.

 

I’m boycotting Hallmark now, too.

 

Maybe it’s just jealousy. But then, I have experienced the flip-side: the unwanted Valentine. This happened in grade school, where only the nerds cared about love. Geeky George confessed his eight-year-old love and I spurned him. I held out for Big Boy Bobby, rejecting the offerings of George the Geek, giving his chocolates to my dog and scarring poor Geeky George’s memories of Valentine’s Day forever.

 

Little did I know that I should have taken George up on his offer. Big Boy Bobby is now rotting in prison after inciting a messy bar room brawl while George is working his way up to CEO of Microsoft. I always did have good judgment.

 

Well, for all of you blissful couples in the world, I offer these bitter comments:

 

The flowers will die. The card will be stained with your tears when you break up. He’ll have extraordinarily bad breath when he kisses you.

 

Maybe someday I’ll understand the strange ritual of Valentine’s Day. Maybe someday I will actually partake in it.

 

Until then I’ll boycott the day and destroy every conversation heart I can find.

 

“Kiss Me” indeed!

 

Hope you enjoyed the walk down memory lane with me! Do you ever look back a decade or so and think about the person you were then? What advice would you give them?