The Valentine Hokey Pokey.

Valentine’s Day for children is a day of free candy framed in pink hearts. All those cardboard punch-outs with cartoon characters on them are just vehicles for lollipops or Lifesavers, and forgotten about days later. There may be a lesson about diversity or sharing thrown in, and then it’s back to long division.

As teenagers, especially as young women, we are groomed to regard Valentine’s Day as the day our boyfriend will forego the usual ratted sweatshirt, possibly wash his hair, clean out his car, and regale us with romantic splendor fit for a Hollywood movie ending. It seems a bit unfair that drugstores don’t carry cards for us to exchange with each other following the imminent disappointment.

As bitter women in our mid-twenties, we finally know what it’s all about. Valentine’s Day is nothing more than a manufactured holiday conjured solely to sell roses in their most lack-luster season and simultaneously force well-rounded, confident single women to glance over their shoulder for any stares of pity. We gather, we spit cynicism, we wear black and use the 14th as an excuse to gorge ourselves on chocolate martinis we purchase with our own debit cards, thank you.

And then we come home late from the bar, reeking of smoke and breath mints because we probably still live with our parents, and there on our pillow is a foreign object. For me, it was a heart-shaped cookie in a Ziploc bag. It had red spinkles. A tiny card made out of red construction paper and hand-cut with pinking shears had a small pink heart glued to the front. The inside read, "Love, Mom".

As bitter women in our twenties, we finally know what it’s all about.