His Side

John B. Trainer

In this crazy, topsy-turvy world of ours, the problems of two people don't amount to a hill of beans--except on the anniversary of the death of St. Valentine.

Isn't this ironic? Marketing--celebrating, even--the death of a Catholic saint by agonizing over what to do for that special love/lust of your life?

(On second thought, Catholicism is big on suffering, martyrdom and all that jazz. I take it back.)

However, suffering and redemption aren't the issue. Here's what I really want to know: What exactly did St. V do to get this holiday? I mean, just how arbitrary is this?

St. Valentine has as much to do with romance as a Mack Truck has to do with the aesthetic sensibilities of French Impressionist painters. What if Hallmark had settled on a different day to trot out its "Be Mine" cards? Just think:

Boy: "Sweetheart, I love you forever. Will you be my Fillmore?"

Girl: "Oh...of course, my darling."

Boy: "Happy Millard Fillmore's Day, angel."

Girl: [swoons]

No, there's nothing inherently romantic about St. Valentine. The legends I've heard involve a third-century martyr stuck in a jail cell accepting tokens from little kids. Not exactly the stuff of hearts and paper doilies.

But for some reason, this has become a romantic holiday. And while chivalry is supposed to be dead, the burden of romance still falls hardest on men. As Valentine's Day draws near, we start to think that St. Valentine had it easy.

A macho tough guy is supposed to act sensitive. He's expected to get in touch with his feminine side on a romantic night out without feeling like he looks really stupid. (Sometimes he'll succeed, sometimes he won't. His companion will know the difference.)

And for men who are already kind of sensitive and romantic (or at least believe that they are), Valentine's Day can be even tougher. These guys are expected to produce.