Not so romantic

It is with great sorrow that I note the passing of a day dedicated to unrealistic expectations, in other words, Valentine’s Day.
Firstly, I have the severely unromantic task of writing about romance. Secondly, the expectations placed on our poor brothers’ heads to serve up a romance-filled experience is just too much! Imagine your grandmother, if she is of the traditional build, being forced to pour herself into a pair of skinny jeans. Impossible! You cry, well, that is exactly what you are doing by expecting romance on a silver platter on Valentine’s Day.

Let us begin with the person on whom all these demands are placed. Some people’s idea of romance- and I say this with the purest of intentions- is looking deep into the eyes of their favourite dairy cow somewhere in the countryside and noting that she looks fat and healthy. This, the lick of her rough tongue on her extra-wide wet nose and the lowing of her fellow cows as they demand to be milked are the closest this man will come to experiencing poetry.

Now you, my dear sister, want this humble creature of God to ‘romance’ you so that you have an excuse to wear that dress that is too red to wear to any other event. You want to strap yourself into uncomfortable shoes and an uncomfortable bra, and put up with the horror of Kampala traffic so that you can hear him tell you what he has been saying for so long— “Me, I like you.” You want to eat unfamiliar things at unfamiliar prices in an unfamiliar place so that you can report to the National Intelligence Service – aka, your girlfriends- that the two of you “went out for Valentine’s.”

You force your dairy-cow owning boyfriend to indulge in ice-cream for dessert when he has continually told you that “it makes my teeth hurt.” You want to sip your cocktail with an umbrella on top while he craves a cup of hot, sweet, milky tea, which he cannot have all because of this Valentine thing.
Ah-ah my sisters, please could we sometimes consider leaving men to rest on Valentine’s Day.