When you’re a nerdy, gawky, unattractive teenager with poor social skills, Valentine’s Day sucks. Pouring alcohol on a fresh skin lesion painful. I hated it. And I also hated, even back then, the way Valentine’s Day was a “manufactured” holiday, how it was a day when people—men—were programmed to buy overpriced crap, and if they didn’t there was hell to pay. The candy companies and the greeting card companies and the florists of America were laughing all the way to the bank, while a large percentage of those gifts being purchased and given were given under duress. People should give gifts because they wanted to, I thought, not because they had to. (I knew I had found the perfect woman when I found a babe who felt the same way about Valentine’s Day as I did.)
Back when I was a youngster, though, I advocated for a Horror-themed Valentine’s celebration. I’d never heard of such a thing, but why not a masquerade party to celebrate the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, I wondered. The guests could come dressed up in 1920s mob getups, with bullet holes and blood optional.
These days, the rest of the Horror community has finally caught up with my way of thinking. Haunted attractions now offer “Bloody Valentine’s” specials. My sweetie and I will be going to one this weekend. Why’d it take the rest of y’all so long to get with the program?