Febsy

I would hate to be February. All the other months are all macho with their 2-3 day leap on lil ol febsy, while February has to deal with the inadequacy of having 28 days. Or sometimes we mix it up and tack an extra day on there, like a tail onto a donkey. Lack of a concrete identity? Persnickety pith plus perpetual paucity? Pity. I bet February cuts itself. Not only is February shorter than all the other kids, it has a dinky holiday that a majority of the single population either despises or ignores. Now I just looked up the history of valentines day on google in the hopes that what James McCormack said about Hallmark inventing Valentines Day was true, so that I would have some juicy gossip to spill. But alas, vday is just a boring amalgamation of various and sundry traditions from old world Europe. I simply adore valentines day when I've got a beau on my hip, because I love thoughtful, effortful romance and little tokens of affection. I love chocolates and roses and smelling chocolates and roses and I love seeing a face light up after you've given them something amazing. I love to love to be loved.

What my family does with chocolate boxes on vday is pretend we're buying them for one parent or another (there is a 50/50 chance of which parent it will be, since there are only two [which you probably assumed anyways {although I guess some people could say they have 4 with step-parents, or 6 if god-parents count. Do they usually count? This is irrelevant.}]), then tuck the box conspicuously beneath some magazines on the kitchen table. A shrewd sibling, or my father shifting through the Victoria's Secret Catalogues, alights on the treasure trove, and lets out a cry of ecstasy that alerts the other family members, who stampede from all ends of the savannah to converge at the watering hole. The ensuing frenzy is regulated by two established rules: 1. We must take one bite only of each different type of chocolate. 2. We must alert others of the comparative merit of the chocolates we have sampled. And one unspoken rule: If you break these rules you will be verbally beaten using expletives graciously supplied by my siblings.

But even with these rules, there's still the feeling that you'll be copped out of the good chocolates unless you're the vulture who camps the corpse the longest. With other desserts, (i.e. thin mints), civil conduct is a bust. When that $3.50 box of cookies is opened, we let fur and feathers fly, in a primal sort of way. Traces of primal instincts emerge when one's needs are at a relativa extrema: hunger, exhaustion. But that's a given really. What's interesting is to look at the more subtle ways these instincts weave into instances of lust, desire, attraction, jealousy. Whenever you think "Zoinks!" ...nevermind, you never think zoinks, that's just me. Whenever you think "Dayyum, that chick is bangin," your subconscious is saying "Her physical features suggest that she is biologically pre-ordained to be exceptionally fertile and apt for rearing offspring, and I would like to mate with her since our babies would have a high chance of survival." But humans complicate things by adding an extra component to the biological mix: mental compatibility. Thus emerged the starry-eyed terms "soulmate" and "true love." Does every person have a soulmate - a missing piece who fits and complements them both physical and personality-wise? Or is it just personality-wise that fits the criteria for a soulmate? Wouldn't the ideal love be one that transcends boundaries and disregards appearances altogether? Well, if so, then the ideal love is impossible. Even blind men can measure attractiveness by the feel of their partner's flesh. Perhaps transcendent love could occur between people with no sight or touch... but what fun would that be? You could never dress up as a well-hung stable boy and his virgin milkmaid!!!! Well, I suppose you could, but it would be pointless, because the fun of dressing up is in showing off the outfits. I guess blind people rely a lot on sound porn.

Seeing the movie Taken made me extremely thankful that I'm not sexy enough to be trafficked and sold for $400,000 to a sheik as his 17-year-old love slave. Unless he's a sightless, touchless sheik...

Guess I'll just cross my fingers.

(Although in retrospect, I can't bring myself to feel thankful that I don't look like this.)

Maggie Grace, 25. Believable 17 year old? Hardly.

• Awesome blog, awesome chocolate
• Chocolate heart by Gaku Otomo
• "La Voglia" by Marcus Tomlinson - 'La voglia' is to desire... someone or something.