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« Of the Heart | Main | Dear Sharkbait »

Vital Conversation

Today we take on the somewhat less banal mater of acute human suffering.

I say this although I gots me a perfectly functional husband who showers regularly, does the laundry, and permits a fair amount of figure skating exhibitions on the DVR.  He is an excellent Valentine.  It doesn't make Valentine's Day any less of a minefield of misery and high-wire angst.

It is the fault of the fake conversation heart.  For the want of a rival candy, Valentine's Day is a wreck of human misery, and such is the case whether you're married, single, or single-but-Facebook-status-yoked.  For in the season, unlike any other, once is presented with the anguish concerning choosing the correct brand of candy hearts for self-consumption.  Choose correctly, and one is rewarded with 60 crunchy calories of vividly tinted, delightfully balanced confection.  Choose unwisely, and the unfortunate soul is doomed to a mouthful of tactically unappealing sugar-mush with the aftertaste of drywall and bitter regret.





After such a year of intense learning and increased enlightenment on the arts and human nature, I anticipated that my hard-won wisdom would lead to an increased ability to correctly identify the proper form of heart despite new packaging and an increased array of imposters to choose from.  Alas-- I selected a purple heart, and rather than the veritable taste of violets, I instead consumed horror.

You win again, O pastel imposter, O darkness of the soul.

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