THANKS Libby for this sweet-tart Valentine Post; for more V-day fun, scroll down for THE BACHELOR… Breaking News: Twilight’s ROBERT PATTINSON, a la John Mayer, gives his own weird TMI interview…
Libby Cudmore’s recent publications include Thrillers, Killers ‘n’ Chillers, Nefarious Muse and Big Pulp (with Matthew Quinn Martin) with future stories in upcoming issues of The MacGuffin and the Yalobusha Review.
By Libby Cudmore
I have just seen what might be the saddest valentine on earth.
I was at the drugstore with my boyfriend, Ian, and I was looking in the candy aisle because I love candy. Turns out they stopped making those big heart-shaped boxes of chocolates with the teddy bears on them, which is a drag because I always wanted one of those. But what they did have, of course, was Twilight themed boxes of Sweet Tarts. And on them was the following inscription
“You’re My Valentine . . . But Edward Has My Heart.” (Or Jacob, depending on which team you bat for)
I have loved many, many, MANY imaginary men in my life—Han Solo, Detective Elliot Stabler, the Phantom of the Opera, Agent #1 on Fringe, a whole menagerie of Jeff Goldblum characters—but this was always between me and my TV and a group of girlfriends who thought I was a little weird. I have never once asked a lover to dress in tight pants with a red stripe down the side or wear black glasses and stammer a lot or let me call them “Mr. Protocol” while we do it.
What makes me sad is to think that there will be men on Valentine’s Day who will accept this gift. In their desperation for acceptance by the opposite sex, these teenage Romeos allow their girlfriends to rank them below someone who doesn’t exist. This is a painful example of what the Urban Dictionary calls getting “Beemaned”— the recipients of this gift are being reminded, on the one day of the year that we all pause and celebrate love, that they are second to a sparkly, passive-aggressive stalker. I believe this is part of what creates serial killers, or at the very least, middle-aged misogynists. We wring our hands and wonder why boys retreat further and further into their video games and we don’t stop to think that maybe it has something to do with how horrible teenage girls are becoming. Generation Twilight is now officially out of hand.
Society has deemed it acceptable for fantasy to overtake reality, but if a guy gave his best girl a box of chocolates with a picture of a hot bitch in a string bikini on it, no jury would convict her for tearing off his testicles. Yet these Twilight candies metaphorically castrate men, and we think it’s kind of cute. That doesn’t even begin to even touch upon the theory that Twilight is teaching young women that a guy who’ll destroy your car and threaten suicide is only hurting you because he loves you soooo much!
This is not a specifically Twilight themed problem, but one that has plagued young girls for decades—I mentioned my own 10th-grade crush on the Phantom of the Opera, with his beautiful Andrew Lloyd Webber score and his scarred face and his tragic love for Christine . . . until I started hanging out with Raphael. And by the 4th 2am call where he accused me of betraying him because I wouldn’t dump Geza, my gorgeous Hungarian boyfriend (who was in college and had a car) to go to the prom with the Phantom of Oneonta, the routine got pretty tiresome.
My girlfriends all agreed that I needed to get rid of Raphael, but Twilight junkies are getting the exact opposite message. We’ve got a generation of women who are looking for emotionally abusive monsters . . . and a group of men who are left with no choice but to become such.
Enjoy your Sweet Tarts!
(photos courtesy of the author)