K-Ci & JoJo are the kings of Valentine’s

By Allison Freeman
Collegian Staff
February 14, 2007

Television and movies have made me bitter, and I mean really bitter. Love isn’t all kissing in the rain, Prince Charming and happily ever after. In reality, he doesn’t call back; he’s a pompous jerk; or worse, he doesn’t even know you exist. These cynical feelings towards love are especially emphasized on and around Valentine’s Day. Never has a holiday caused so much misery and animosity—and for good reasons, too. The day is basically a slap in the face for those of us who are alone, and it’s impossible to hide. It’s even painful to open a newspaper; the usually black and white pages are splattered with shades of red and pink, advertising everything from heart-shaped diamond pendants to freakishly large teddy bears.

Perhaps this hostility stems from the fact that I always got the smashed candy hearts during the kindergarten valentine exchange, or maybe I’m scarred from all those years of not receiving a flower-gram in middle school. It could be because the only valentine I’ve ever gotten was from my mother, and because I decided to gallivant off to college this year, I’m not even getting that. I guess I’m just sick of being screwed over by Cupid, especially since I’ve paid my dues. Oh, how I’ve paid. At every Valentine’s dance from freshman to senior year of high school, I willingly danced a slow dance or two with the most awkward kid in our class because I was nice, and the pool of potential suitors was kind of dry. There I stood in my glitzy dress and too high heels, swaying clumsily to K-Ci & JoJo’s “All My Life,” impatiently waiting for those painful three minutes to be over. As the song droned on, I sighed, glancing around at all the other couples, wishing I was one of them. I closed my eyes, imagining myself descending a grand staircase on the arm of a handsome man decked out in a tuxedo.

The deeper I drifted into my imagination, the more the musical stylings of K-Ci & JoJo were replaced by the soft crooning of Nat King Cole. My flashy dress has transformed into a chic gown, and with each step, I could hear the faint rustling of the silky material on the stairs. My prince holds out his arm to me, and I reach to grab his hand. I could feel my fingertips brush his when suddenly, a nasal voice roused me from my dream saying, “Thanks for the dance, Ally.” Suddenly, I’m back in the cafeteria and back in the sweaty clasp of my dance partner. The florescent lights flickered on, signaling the end of the night. He stared down at me, waiting for a response. “Yeah sure, anytime.”

He looked disappointed at my answer and walked away. I smiled to myself as I gathered up my coat and headed toward the parking lot. Even now, I wonder if my fate will change. For now, Valentine’s Day will be spent with my friends, eating Ben and Jerry’s straight out of the pint and watching other people’s romantic escapades a la Sex and the City. Perhaps, if I’m lucky, my mom will even send me a valentine in the mail. And starting Feb. 15, I will be buying half-priced chocolates and contemplating my own romantic escapades for next year with my own Philly prince.

freemana1@lasalle.edu