Hello young lovers, wherever you are! The most forcibly romantic day of the year is almost upon us, and if you’re currently entangled in the vicious cycle of co-dependency generally termed a “relationship,” you’re probably thinking of ways to celebrate, albeit in a non-cheesy and perhaps even Jewish-y manner (how better to take the St. out of St. Valentine, after all? I mean, it’s not like Hallmark can do it all by themselves, or invented the holiday or anything.) Well, look no further. There are plenty of ways to ensure you and your significant other always remember, in the words of Tevye, who you are and what God expects you to do.
First of all, the most Jewish thing you can do on Valentine’s Day is put it off to the next day. I was watching Bravo’s Vanderpump Rules the other day (a modern masterpiece which deserves a blog post all of its own) and heard Scheana, the waitress notorious for once, in a less affianced incarnation, engaging in sexual congress with Brandi Glanville’s ex-husband Eddie Cibrian, marveling that it was so much cheaper to a have her wedding on a Sunday: “It’s, like, half off.”
No schit, Scheana. We figured that out long ago. So why go to a crowded restaurant to eat an overpriced prix fixe meal that you would never order any component of separately? Why not do the fancy dinner thing Sunday night, and order in Saturday? Chinese food is obviously associated with Christmas, so why not make Indian food the Valentine’s Day tradition of Jews in love? It’s spicy, it’s creamy, it’s sensual, and it gives you such heartburn that if you still want to have sex after, you’ll know you really like each other.
After dinner, it’s time for a movie on the couch. Rather than insist on a romantic comedy, why not give your sweetie a treat and agree to watch the crappy action film he’s been eying on iTunes? I don’t know what it’s called. The one with the guy with the machine gun and sunglasses. At the end of Act One, muse aloud: “You know who I think is cute? Paul Rudd.” Wait 15 minutes, then: “I wonder what it’s like to be married to Paul Rudd.” And when you’re absolutely sure you’ve reached the climactic battle scene where the hero will finally triumph, sigh incredibly loudly and say, “Why can’t you be more like Paul Rudd?” Then you can watch something you’ll both enjoy, like that documentary that just showed up on Netflix, The Decent One, about the private life of Heinrich Himmler. Some of the letters he wrote to his mistress were really touching!
Finally, we adjourn to the bedroom—if the vindaloo and the genocide haven’t put you off for the night. I don’t have to tell you what to do there—just be safe and enjoy yourself. The only thing I ask is that you call your mother immediately afterward, to let her know that you’re alive, and not spending the big day alone. Hell, call her during. She’ll wait.
Happy Valentine’s Day!