Blah, blah, blah

As I sit here banging away on my weekly column, a ding sound notifies me that I have mail.

I click on the prompt and open the umpteenth spam advertisement telling me for only $64.95, their “sweetheart package” will win me the undying love of my significant other.

I don’t have a significant other.

You might think being single I would view Valentine’s Day with some forlorn hope or even disdain, but I don’t. Valentine’s Days past have given me great appreciation for being unattached during the annual holiday for couples and significant others.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for romantic cards, boxes of candy, and those helium-filled balloons. It’s just, with all the commercialism, and expectations associated with Feb. 14, it is a good time to be single.

Several years ago,  - when I wasn’t single - after making my obligatory purchases and preparing to drive out of the store’s parking lot, I saw a gentleman coming out of the store with an abundance of sweetheart merchandising.

Under on arm, he had a bulletin board-size card and an elaborate looking box of candy. With his other arm, he was leading one of those large heart-shaped balloons, the ones with the black accordion arms and legs that appear to walk as you pull them along.

It looked like he was walking a small child out of the store. That is until he cleared the door and the wind greeted the hapless pair.

A gust of wind ripped the balloon character out of his hand and launched it on a flight for freedom across the parking lot.

With the first gust, the balloon gained 10-feet in altitude, and put 20-yards between it and Mr. Romantic.

As the gust died down, the balloon lost altitude and returned to a slow trot across the parking lot. The hapless romantic was in hot pursuit and making up a ground, right up until the next gust of wind hit.

The man continued his futile quest across the parking lot, closing the gap to six or seven feet each time the wind died down only to have another gust hit and the escaping balloon would leap another 10-15 yards across the concrete.

At about the third leap, a wind gust ripped the large card from the hapless romantic’s burdened hand and propelled it on its own separate path to freedom.

Hapless hesitated for a moment as the card disappeared, then clutched his last remaining purchase tightly to his chest and took off after the fleeing balloon.

As the pair repeated their leapfrog chase across the lot as the balloon bounced and danced in the wind it almost looked like turning back occasionally to taunt its weary pursuer.

The last time I saw the two of them, Balloon Man was gaining altitude heading toward eight lanes of fast-moving traffic. Mr. Romantic was flailing along behind carrying the box of candy, and heading somewhat obliviously toward the same multiple lanes of fast-moving traffic.

Since that day, when Feb. 14 rolls around and I find myself with no one to send a card to I think about that hapless romantic.

I envision him laying on a hospital gurney somewhere offering his loved one a flattened and tattered box of chocolates with a tire track down the middle and clutching a fragment of an accordion-shaped black paper leg.

If it’s all the same to you, I think I will wait until the 15th to do my shopping. The candy is all 50 percent off, and the helium-filled balloons have just a little less fight in them.