Dear Cupid . . .

We need to talk . . . It occurs to me that you’ve coasted along on your reputation for centuries with nary a question about your credentials.  Sure, your mom was the goddess of love, Aphrodite or Venus (depending on whether you’re feeling Greek or Roman and, presumably, whichever one is more lenient with your cell phone privileges that week), but we put a lot of credence in your powers, and I’m wondering just how prudent that is.     

Should people really peg their Valentine’s Day hopes and dreams on a guy who forgets to wear pants?

Furthermore, you are most often depicted as a child, wielding dangerous weapons.  Now, some people claim that Match.com is risky, but I beg to differ.  Hoping to be struck through the heart with one of your arrows seems far more reckless.  I also question your endorsement deals.  With your image emblazoned on everything from chocolate boxes to greeting cards to goofy-looking pajama pants, I have to wonder if your branding message is losing its luster.  If you’re such an advocate of true love and swooning romance, then why not pay us a visit more often?  Surely, people would greet you with more enthusiasm if you didn’t just pop by in time to hit pay dirt every second-week of February. 

Forgive me, Cupid, if I come off a bit harsh.  I’m all in favor of love—dizzying, ecstatic, embarrassing, gushing love.  My affinity for chocolate, too, is well-documented, and I believe love letters are an art form; poetry, a prerequisite.  Yet, I have trouble celebrating such a clichéd day.  To me, red roses are positively ho-hum, and elaborate dinners, even in a boom economy, are a little silly.  The expectations are out of hand, and the intention is somewhat misguided; can we agree on that? 

Why not tell the masses to skip the fanfare and do something small that sends their hearts aflutter, today?  Acknowledge that pitchers and catchers report to spring training this weekend (it’s enough to make all of Red Sox nation weak in the knees).  Spend time with a favorite small child, showering him/her with affection and maybe Hershey Kisses.  Gather up a bunch of fabulous singletons and toast the relationships you do have, rather than bemoan one you don't. Partake in a heart-pumping workout that spikes your endorphins, or spread some love by making a donation, even a small one, to a charity that warms your heart.  Spare your sweetie a corny, mass-produced card and make a kooky, handmade one, instead.   

Love cannot be manufactured.  It can’t be bought or sold.  It doesn’t wait for the calendar to indicate when it should make its next move.  Sometimes, apparently, it doesn’t even wear pants in public.  Right, Cupid?  Indeed, love is fickle.  

xo Om Gal