20th November 2010. The day that will forever change my life and subsequent Valentine's Days.
I’m married. I know, some of you out there will probably look at that declaration with some sort of squalid pallor. You know? The kind of face you make when you’re looking heartbroken at some of Edison Chen’s pictures (five words: Cecilia buy an epilator please). That said, I’ve never been one to shy away from romantic grand gestures- I only hate it when I have to make them because society Hallmark says I have to.
“Then how?” asked a female friend in singlish. “Then I refuse to conform but will make an exception this year because it would be my first valentine as a married man,” I replied.
It’s true- marriage changes you. Suddenly, you have this awesome housekeeper partner who keeps you on the straight and narrow: Your sock drawer is tidy, you find your v-necks, round necks and singlets folded in a way that allow you to see what’s what at a glance and most importantly, for those of you so blessed, you find yourself sleeping on ironed bedsheets.
Yes, IRONED bedsheets (ironed bedsheets feel awesome FYI)
The wife is awesome. Not just saying it because she might read it.
How not to buy a wife like that a gift for Valentine’s Day? Sadly, the pursuit and quest for these Valentine’s gifts are the principle reason for my ire. V-Day has simply turned into this ugly commercially driven consumer-sucker fest for corporations and astute retailers.
Why should roses cost any more on February 14th than it does any other day of the year? Valentine’s Day has become this mutant festival where pardon my French, dick measuring is suddenly acceptable. Most of the women are looking around with smug “see my boyfriend/husband/guy I’m having an affair with” loves me more than yours expressions. Why should the size of the bouquet matter? The only time size should matter is (get your heads out of the gutter) is when it comes to the diamond you’re about to propose with- She’ll be talking about how you proposed to kids, relatives, cousins and third aunty’s fourth cousin on her mother’s side for time immemorial.
Size of the diamond also matters because that is the one ring that will define how she treats you the rest of your life and if De Beers is to be believed, it lasts forever; but roses? They wilt, they die and they become the very thing that reminds you that whatever happens, beauty fades.
At the end of the day all you can hope for is that whatever remains glimmers like the diamond that adorns her finger. I proposed in a Presidential Suite at the Ritz and got her a Miu Miu bag for Christmas. Of course I’ll be spending more money on overpriced specially priced fine dining experience this Valentine’s because that’s the only way a man can show appreciation for the love of his life am I right? Well, unfortunately, I’ll be away in Fuzhou China and from what I gather, I can get more bang for my buck on branded bags over there.
So, sure, I’ll be celebrating Valentine’s Day. How about that Rolex honey? Not the one from China.
The Monsieur 
Posted on February 9, 2011
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