There are some people who just don’t like Valentine’s. It’s a day that single people probably think about even more so than coupled folks (or thrupple, if the case may be). I’m in a happy, healthy and hot relationship, but my partner and I don’t dwell on Valentine’s Day. Indeed, Valentine’s is a time when at least one person in the relationship feels bad because he/she/they just don’t know if what they’re doing is enough to express their love. What might a small box of luxe choccies be suggesting? So it’s probably just as daunting to folks in relationships. It’s no wonder more women are turning to celebrating Galentine’s Day instead.

Still, single peeps do not fret or fuss, don’t be sad or delirious. Consider yourself rather fortunate, actually. And we’ll get to that in a sec. Remember, even in pop culture there are characters that don’t appear to be that way inclined toward love. Wednesday Addams strikes me as someone who’d likely swap anything pink for black, and prefer a Lenten day over anything sickly love-hearty-like.

And what about Charlie Brown? He disliked Valentine’s with a passion – so much so there’s even an action figure officially licensed out by Peanuts.

The I Hate Valentine’s Day Charlie Brown action figure collectible depicts the character’s turbulent emotions on V. Day. So blokes hang in there, too, you’re not alone. And it can get scary on the other side…

Tell you a true story. I once had this girlfriend named, well, let’s call her Jelga…

“When I get pregnant and have a baby, I’m not going to be friends with married friends of mine who aren’t pregnant.”

Lessons I learnt in homophobia and stupidity

Jelga McMoult was a plain girl. Pretty, but really quite plain to today’s airbrushed-to-oblivion standards. Definitely plain in her thinking. Her parents supposedly thought she was the bee’s knees; the shiniest apple out of the crate, I’m sure. I saw her more as a bit of a daft woman – but she did at least know her way around a camera.

As the editor of a print magazine in the 2010s, I commissioned Jelga on a few paid photographic jobs. She wasn’t a very good photographer but we had photoshop to fix things up. Jelga and I also enjoyed quite the party / social life together. Once, at a Jelga landmark birthday party, my friend Nicholas dressed up as Pocahontas and delivered an awe-inspiring drag number (by Vanessa Williams probably). Suffice to say, it was surreal, and a splendid number on Nick’s behalf.

Jelga would also often attend my parties – always dressed to the party theme. Eighties Pop Stars; Victims & Villains; the Golden Age of Hollywood – I’ve hosted some pretty cool-themed parties in my time. But as I said, she was quite the host herself. Well, kinda. At her Freo pub-held engagement, I got to meet her lovely sister (I’m calling her Jane), and that’s when the pennies started to drop as I got to hear about the real girl behind the smiley-party façade.

With her jelly-like pouty lips and broody brown puppy eyes, I’m guessing Jelga got what she wanted most of her life.

To her Tiger Mom, to the mean girls at school, and even to the jaded teachers in high school, she probably appeared as the perfect ‘10’. She came across as a right catch, I’m sure, all the way through to her coke-loving surfie husband’s perception. On that engagement night, we all did a lot of coke in someone’s bedroom at the afterparty, I know that for sure. I distinctly remember doing so with Jelga, hubby-to-be and a couple of wannabe rockstars who had egos that went through the roof.

Anyway Jelga called me a couple of months after the engagement to tell me that she is sorry, she can’t have me at her wedding. “My Mum is coming from Malaysia and she’s inviting a whole lot of relatives and friends and there’s just not enough room for… And don’t feel bad – none of my gay friends are invited.”

I was a little shell-shocked – more from the fact that such homophobia was spilling from the mouth of a supposed friend, less from not being invited; we might have been party pals but deep down I knew Jelga was a bitch.

Her jellyfish lips kept going: “I probably won’t be seeing you after I’m married…”

She actually said married like she was coyly singing something silly: “Maaaaaarrriiiiiiiied”. God help the man.

Then again.

“… You see, when I’m maaaaaarrriiiiiiiied, I’m not going to remain friends with any of my friends that aren’t maaaaaarrriiiiiiiied. They’ll just be no use to me; we won’t have things in common, the same things to talk about.”

Wait, it gets more insane.

My mind was at that stage as silly-putty as yours might be reading this now.

“And when I get pregnant and have a baby, I’m not going to be friends with married friends of mine who aren’t pregnant,” Jelga and her jelly-lips spluttered out. And then, the real cracker:

“And when I have my second baby, I’m not going to be friends with those friends of mine who only have one baby, because they’ll only have experienced one baby and not two.”

How AI perceived my prompt of “a woman named Jelga with long, long hair and big red lips, sinking into crimson quicksand”.

By this stage my mind had melted into a gooey mess but I smiled while silently thanking the gods that I wasn’t going to be one of those friends a couple of years down the track…

“Oh. That’s okay, Jelga. Of course, your mother would want your old friends and all the family to take precedence. And, hmmm-yeah. I’m okay with all that.”

“Oh good. I was worried you wouldn’t take it well… So, I guess that’s it; I won’t probably see you again since we won’t be in the same circles.”

This is a true story. I haven’t seen Jelga for over seven years, nor her lovely sister Jane, for that matter. And I kinda miss Jane. I’m not sure if Jelga is currently in the Hot Mums Club yet, but if you ask me, I think her jig might be up soon.

The moral of the story…

I feel sorry for Jelga. She is so Machiavellian in everything she does, she totally closes herself off to the real magic of life – all those little magnificent things that make it a more brilliant thing each day. Jelga is stuck.

So don’t be a Jelga, and don’t buy into the false equation that (contrived) coupledom = family = happiness. Her story is just one of the many, varied stories about life stuck with one partner under pretence in a suburb way out there, surrounded by competitive wannabe neighbours, keeping up with the soccer mums, their big egos and even bigger SUVs. And gosh, imagine all the other bullshit that goes with it.

Just thank the heavens that you don’t have to put up with all of that crap. You get to have the day off to go love lots of things about life: pick yourself your own flowers, make your own chocolate doughnuts. Indeed, go nuts with whatever it is that satisfies you today.

Happy Valentine’s to you!

Antonino Tati