Relay: For Love or Money
My husband and I have been married for 43 years and have spent 44 years celebrating Valentine’s Day. Over the years it has become less of a celebration and more of an acknowledgment. We really don’t eat much candy, but I always get a store-bought bouquet of flowers and a heart-shaped box of chocolates, and always scratch-off lottery tickets. Because, just like Bruno Mars sings in the song that probably made him one, “I wanna be a billionaire so freaking bad.”
Valentine’s Day is the second most card-sending holiday after Christmas. Now isn’t that a waste of money? I stopped buying cards of any kind when I saw a card I had spent $4.99 on in the garbage of the recipient the next day. It was as if someone, who shall remain nameless, had just thrown a $5 bill in the garbage, and that’s no way for me to become a billionaire.
I don’t want to be a cherubic Scrooge here, but I do think Valentine’s Day should be abolished. Little kids get their feelings hurt if others in their classes receive Valentine’s cards and they don’t. Those without a partner get depressed if they’re alone and the liquor stores have long lines to get in to. But this year Valentine’s Day is on a Sunday, which should take the sting out of it for kids in school and office mates watching as big bouquets of flowers are delivered to others’ desks.
Single women and some men feel pressured to participate in a holiday that, according to Google lore, was created by an order of Roman priests who would sacrifice a sheep and cut its hide into strips, dip them in blood, and then gently slap women with the bloodied strips to boost their fertility — in February, the worst month of the year, when I’m sure a lot of babies are conceived.
Could you imagine something like that happening in modern times? Women would turn right around and beat the hell out of the priests hitting them with bloodied sheep hides. It would be a sight to behold out here in winter, when not much else is going on.
If I ever am to become a billionaire or even a millionaire, I have big plans. I don’t know that I’d quit my job, because I like being involved in the community. The community should consider itself lucky that my job requires that I keep my mouth shut and remain objective. If I were given a platform, I would have a lot to say about what’s going on out here in Montauk during the summer, and, trust me, the hospitality businesses would not be happy with me. And the Army Corps of Engineers would have to run for their lives.
If I were to quit my job, I might even consider a position on the town board. Under my rule there would be no peeing in Fort Pond. I would put up big signs warning of snapping turtles looking to snap at any male appendage they happen to come upon. Young men consider their maleness sacred so that would put an end to that.
If I were in charge, those who were falling down drunk in the street at night would be locked up in a portable jail right on the green for all to see the following morning and then made to do the walk of shame through the downtown area.
Loud music in residential areas at night would not be allowed. I’m not going to mention any business by name but if you drive by certain ones that have opened recently you might notice, as I have, that the surrounding homes have for sale signs on them. How sad and unfair is that?
I’d put up money to get the playhouse pool constructed and, of course, give a large donation to the two churches. “Are you listening, God? It’s me, Janis. Let me win the lottery and I’ll take care of your homes in Montauk.”
And finally, I’d get hair extensions, long, beautiful hair extensions that would take the curl out of my curly hair. Because with the exception of Oprah, not many millionaires have wild curly hair. I think it’s a thing, part of the billionaires club. And I want to be a billionaire so freaking bad!
Janis Hewitt is a senior writer for The Star.
