Unconditional Love: Why Every Man Should Make His Mom His Valentine This Year
Everybody chill. I know. Trust me, I know. Valentine's Day is approaching, which means every single girl (and guy, even though most won't admit it) will soon be wallowing in the misery of their youthful freedom — most likely publicly, via every social media platform imaginable.
We need to relax. It's really not that earth-shattering. Although, sure, it would be nice to wake up February 15 with a stone cold fox in bed with you (pecking at your neck); the alternative doesn't need to be waking up to that ominous, black Netflix screen asking, “Are You Still Watching ‘Weeds'?”
Yes, Netflix. For the eighth time tonight, I'm still f*cking chain-watching “Weeds.”
My point is, there's definitely a happy medium.
Ultimately, Valentine's Day is the one day out of the year reserved for love. You see what I did there? It's not national “I'm-in-a-relationship Day” or “The-girl-I-cheat-on-my-girlfriend-with Day,” for that matter. It's Valentine's Day, The Feast Day of Saint Valentine, the celebration of love and affection.
The last time I checked, I love a lot of things. I have an immense amount of love for Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead as a whole. I love Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Sadly, I love the New York Mets.
Although I wouldn't necessarily suggest jumping on “russellstover.com” to order 25 heart-shaped boxes of chocolate to ship out to every dude on the Mets roster, I also wouldn't recommend Instagramming, tweeting or making a status on Facebook about how your valentine, this February 14, will be a bottle of Pinot and a few bars of Xanax. Chances are, you'll probably wake up February 15 suddenly ecstatic in your singledom (once again), anyway. That's the power of Hallmark holidays.
Maybe I'm lucky, or just that charming, but this year, my valentine is also my first love. No, not that cold-hearted bitch who broke my heart. I'm talking about the first woman I really ever expressed my love for. I'm talking about my mommy. Yep, yep, give it up. I'm adorable, I know.
Seriously, if you're single this year, why wouldn't you ask the woman you've said those “three words” to, more than anyone else, to be your valentine?
“Ask my mom to be my valentine? That's so lame. I want some vagina this year,” my sexually frustrated, and deprived, friends will declare.
Well, if you're that hellbent on “scoring some vag” this Valentine's Day, keep in mind, you LIVED in a vagina for nine months. See? Suddenly your appetite for sex is diminished. Now go ask mom to be your valentine! (You're welcome.)
The truth is, moms are the sh*t. When the last girl you swore you would marry ran off with some dude with sweet hair on the lacrosse team, who was there to pick up the pieces?
Right on, mama. When you were sick in bed in middle school, who would check in on you every hour with a new bowl of soup (and a new movie to watch from Blockbuster)? Right again, the one and only, mommy dearest. (Unless your parents are a lesbian couple, then in that case, you get double the love!)
I feel no shame telling the woman who made me how much I love her, on the one day reserved on the calendar for the celebration of love. If she wants the title of “valentine” thrown in there, too, hey, go for it. I was never really into “labels,” anyway. It beats the hell out of not having a valentine, any day.
More importantly, it will make the person who loves YOU the most, the most happy. At times when you may feel like everyone else on planet earth is against you, or wants to screw you over by taking Facebook pictures with side-boob showing (and your best friends next to them), you can always find some peace knowing that your mom is out there, somewhere, loving you.
If you live 80 years, you may have 80 different valentines. You may have zero different valentines. Who knows; the rest is really up to you. Just don't forget what this day is really about. If I live 80 years, I know I'll always have at least one valentine. Love ya, mom. Even though I'm “a little sh*t,” as you love to call me (rightfully so).
Photo credit: Shutterstock
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