Happy Sex Day

Valentine’s day.

It’s full of drama and demand, disappointment, discrimination and guilt. All this coy bullshit with flowers and chocolates and cards.

Can’t we just call it “Sex Day”?

Love was restrictively formalized in medieval times, exalted in purple prose by the Romantic Poets, and completely misunderstood, capitalized and denatured by the ‘60s. Love is an abstract feeling and it’s hard to define. It should probably include respect and excitement and adrenalin and kindness, but on Valentines Day it seems to come down to:

We got married.

We’re committed.

You give me stuff so I love you.

He looks like a movie star.

She’s hot.

He’s thoughtful.

She’s funny.

You can say you love your wife, husband, kids, grandparents, car, dog, music, fountain pen, underwear, implants, orthotics and pudding.

Let’s simplify it all and eliminate the abstraction of  “Love” and call it Sex Day.

“Happy Sex Day! Are you getting any?”

“Hey, have a great Sex Day. Hope you get laid.”

“Are you doing anything for Sex Day (nudge, nudge)?”

No flowers, unless it will help you to have sex. Flowers look nice next to the bed. Colorful. Nice smell. Candy’s OK, too. Small amounts of chocolate before and after a sexual interlude may enhance the experience and get the dopamine flowing.

Hell, you can even send a card:

“Thank you for the wonderful sex. Let’s do it again soon. I love your (body part).” Nothing wrong with that.

But on Sex Day the focus should be on sex; intercourse, congress, play, orgasm, enjoyment and expression. If you don’t want to have sex or can’t, that’s cool; just don’t wreck it for other people and take some time to recognize the beauty of physical fun that doesn’t require a subscription or membership card, uniforms or gear. Unless you like uniforms and gear, then feel free to choose your own wardrobe and equipment. Dress up, saddle up, wind up and plug in. It’s a personal, international, eternal and, if you’re discreet, unregulated experience.

Your parents had it and I hope they still do. Your kids are having it, or will, and you’d probably be surprised at how much they already know. Grandparents, strangers, best friends, famous people, fat, thin, old, young, short and tall may all be carnally engaged at this moment. Rejoice.

You don’t need a partner, either. If you’re alone, separated, divorced, solitary, unaccompanied, isolated, you can still take a few minutes and celebrate. Buy yourself something nice and take a half hour out of the day with a warm bath, a memory, a moist towelette.

Enjoy or abstain, but it’s a pretty terrific reality and we should celebrate it, formally and publicly, one day a year. Of course it will piss off religious fruitcakes who are terrified of their bodies, and men who fear women, and Pat Robertson and Kirk Cameron and Orson Scott Card. So what? Fuck those losers. They get Christmas, Easter, President’s Day, Super Bowl and Halloween to be drunk and angry.

Dress up or strip down; today is Sex Day.

Hope you get some.