This is the second installment of Madeline Hall’s column “Weird Love” which discusses the many oddities of affection as they appear in the year after the world didn’t end.
’m going to go out on a limb and say that it’s REALLY NICE that in the United States, we try to celebrate a holiday that commemorates love and all of its squishy side effects.
There’s a civility involved in it; we nod to the continued phenomenon of affection by reminding ourselves of our relative companionship or solitude, all the while accepting that there is a day set aside to simply be in love. That is, if you are in love.
It’s hard to tell with certainty which population – that of the mirthfully matched or the sullenly solitary – feels the impact of the day more forcefully. Are those with significant others significantly happier with the arrival of the day? Or are those who pity their singular self that much more unbearable to listen to as they complain about their loveless life?
{ Comments on this entry are closed }