Sacrificial offerings and other strange traditions
by Kayden Kross
This is taken from the blog that I should probably spend much more time working on: www.clubkayden.com/blog
It’s not a pointed attack on tradition but it might as well be. Not like I’ve never done that before. I just don’t like our weird half dead idea of courtship. The opening doors thing kills me. I’m not for or against it really, I’m just sick of the unknown. Some women throw a fit about it because they think it’s benign sexism, some women think chivalry is dead and so wait like a stubborn child until the clueless male catches on and grabs the door handle, and then there’s the rest of us caught in the middle. We don’t care either way, we just don’t like the awkwardness when we wait and he doesn’t get it or he goes for it and we’re already halfway through the door. What’s the point? Whether he gets it or not has nothing to do with whether he respects me or is a real man, it’s just a sign that this whole door thing is in it’s twilight years and we will all one day look back on the silliness of it all.
Flowers. I could write a book on fucking flowers. I don’t like them. Take the rosy screen away and all we’re involving ourselves in is the sacrificial offering of freshly severed plant reproductive organs. Flowers are men’s way of trying to prove that they were thinking about you or they’re sorry. I’d rather just hear it and have them save the eight bucks. Then there is the incredible gray area after you get the flowers. You have to smell them. Then you have to say thank you and immediately display your plant organs in the best vase you have in a highly visible area in your home or office. The giver will read into how long you smell them for. You will read into what kind of flowers he got you because of course, we’ve assigned a meaning to every conceivable flower on the market. This could start another fight. If it’s yellow it might be a sign that he just wants to be friends. Or he wants you to get well soon. Or if it’s two dozen red roses he might be too serious. And what is the prescribed length of time for leaving these things on display? They wilt, they shed little flower things all over the table. The water turns funny colors. How fast can one throw them out without seeming ungrateful or callous? The potted plants are the worst. Indoor plants. There is no such thing as an indoor plant guys. These things didn’t evolve to live with us. All plant life evolved outdoors. Leave it there. Orchids sit on the high throne of evil. It’s not a gift to say I love you. It’s a gift to say, “I couldn’t put my feelings into words, but here, have some responsibility instead.” Then you have to keep your caged plant in the right light and monitor the amount of water it gets. And you have to feed the thing. And it needs haircuts. And if the fucking thing dies then the giver reads into that too. Must mean you don’t care. Dogs are much more rewarding.
Meeting the parents: it sucks. The significant other always makes it out to be a casual thing. “Just because.” But it’s never just because. What’s really going on is the son or daughter is saying, “Ok mom and dad, the last one didn’t work but I found a replacement. Good enough?” or, “what’s wrong with this person that I haven’t seen yet?”, or sometimes it’s a rebellious thing, which is worse, because then the message is “ha ha! Burn!.” And of course the tortured parents play nice, because they are more mature, and they don’t want to see it get worse. And you, the parent-meeter, get to be the pawn for the evening and analyze absolutely everything that is said until the moment you get home and start remembering how good the single life was. Personally, unless I’m planning on procreating with a person, I’d rather not meet the parents, and even then only because I want to make sure the sperm donor doesn’t have anything weird going on in the gene pool.
Valentine’s Day was invented by Satan. I don’t care if you agree with this historical record or not, it’s true. Satan woke up one day and decided that the best way to fuck with the deliriously happy infatuated people would be to put them to the test too early on. And the best way to fuck with the happily single is to convince them that they aren’t complete people. And the best way to fuck with the tried and true relationships is to point out that they’re past the infatuation period and need to move on to other people so they can experience the craziness all over again. And then of course the miserable people just get to be a little more miserable that day.
Ok I could go on but I’ll probably need more material another day so I’ll just do a follow up when I run out of interesting things to say again…