It began with handmade cards and doilies when you were in grammar school. The teacher made you make one for everyone in the class, so the kid who picked his nose wouldn’t feel left out. But you only signed your name with ‘Love’ to the important one(s). Now, you wouldn’t even use a doily as a drink coaster, and you think any man who makes you a handmade card is far beyond metroseexual.

St. Valentine’s day isn’t about love; it’s about envy. Instead of pink and red, everything should just be green like St. Patty’s Day, except without the stout. Every committed women becomes envious of her other committed friends. He went over the top presenting her with two pairs of earrings asking her to choose which she prefers, and when she can’t decide, he insists she keep both. Strawberries and champagne are delivered to the hotel room, where, to her surprise, all of her clothes are neatly arranged. He even remembered to pack her pill.

It’s not just the event, the “did he cook for you?” or “where did he take you?” It then becomes what you have to show for it Monday morning, the goods. A ring, the Bulgarian Rose Creed perfume you’d been eyeing, a new Gucci bag—yes that one. The whole bit is as offensive as someone blurting out how much she just spent at the Hermes sample sale.

We’ve all been here, too. You just started dating; it’s not serious, but you can’t not acknowledge the day. Actually, if you’re a woman, go ahead and ignore any men in your life. It’s the birthday rule; it’s up to them to make contact. Valentine’s Day is only about men in as far as what men do for women. I didn’t ask if you liked it or not. It just is.

Last Valentine’s Day, I received a stunning bouquet of roses at work. Ladies love receiving flowers at work like men enjoy receiving blowjobs. Though this Valentine’s Day falls on a weekend, so you’re off the hook there (that was directed to the men… ladies, buy a pillow). The bouquet came with a small white card.

“To Stephanie—Happy Valentine’s Day. Love, Rob.”

Rob was nice. That’s all he was. I say let him go be nice with someone else. I need more than nice. Still, I mean, that was a bold move for Rob (even if his tongue did resemble a lizard’s). Maybe I should reconsider? Prior to calling to thank this bold-maybe-now-there’s-a-chance-for-us Rob, I phoned the florist shop to inquire after a last name. There were, after all, two Robs in my life at that point… I mean, come on.

The flower shop got it wrong. The beautiful blooms were sent from my beautiful Jennifer. Thank god I didn’t elevate my voice and offer thanks to mister it-doesn’t-just-look-like-a-lizard-tongue-it-is-one. My sweet Jennifer sent roses to my office on St. Valentine’s Day; she knew how despondent I was then, not having a man in my life. When you have friends like that, it’s a helluva lot easier to fake a smile when the rest of them show you the goods.

So go ahead, stop thinking about it, send the girl, any girl, some flowers. Because it does matter.