Having been single for 26 of my 27 Valentines days, and being old enough to care for at least the last 15, I easily fall into the masses of single people who gripe and moan about, “Oh, I hate Valentines Day! Oh, woa is me! Oh, I’m still single! Oh, I ‘hate’ people in relationships!” I was actually performing this routine with a coworker the other night, and I finally allowed myself to verbalize a fact: I don’t care. I don’t think I have for several years now. It’s not that I don’t care about being single, or ever being in a relationship. No sir. But I’ve grown numb to the depressing effects of Valentines Day, and I think that’s a result of noticing the Hallmarkyness of it. Or maybe I’m just so worn out from griping about singleness all the other days of the year, it doesn’t feel any different. When I do get to a place in my life where I’m coupled on February 14, I really hope she’s cool enough to know why I don’t want to waste any time or money on it. Honestly, if you’re in a relationship, do you really try to get dinner reservations somewhere on V-day? I know I wouldn’t.