Cupid sends his congrats

Hovering around the ‘celebrations’ aisle of a local supermarket on Tuesday, I overheard a scathing conversation between two friends as they skimmed through a sprawling selection of Valentine’s Day cards, searching assiduously for the perfect one.

“Shape of these,” said one to the other, flicking derisively with a finger-length acrylic nail at a card with a big heart on it.

“They’re all ‘love’ and ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ and ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ and ‘forever’…”

The friend, presumably alerted by the word ‘forever’ to the potential length of the list that was coming her way, decided to pipe up and butt in.

“A knooooowww,” she groaned, empathetically. “That’s not the kind of thing you’re looking for at all, is it?”

Though tempted to interrupt and enquire about the precise nature of this relationship, which, by the seems of it, could only be honoured by the purchase of an entirely loveless piece of paper, I instead stood static still, cautious that any detection of my content-gathering espionage might kill the conversation stone dead.

“It is frig,” said the card-seeker, oblivious to my lurking. “I’d rather die right here in the middle of this shop than buy any of these boke cards… I wonder if I could just get him a congratulations card instead?”

A short silence ensued, during which I imagined the friend was taking a moment to think through what had been said, after which she would tell the card-buyer how terrible the idea was she had just expressed.

Boy, was I wrong.

“A birthday card would nearly even do him, too,” said the friend, either mad, drunk or trying to sabotage whatever sort of weird situation-ship (I learned that word today) this card was destined to consecrate.

At this point, I laughed, then tried to cloak my amusement in a cough I hoped was consonant with the sound of the laugh.

It must have been, because they ploughed on, unfazed.

“You’re right enough, a birthday card would probably do him,” agreed the old romantic… “but I am going to go with the congratulations one.”

“Good choice,” said the friend, supportively. “Sure it is his birthday next month anyway.”

Happy with their seemingly non-sensically-arrived-at decision, the pair picked up a glittery gold congratulations card and strolled away down the shop, presumably going in search of a magic tree car freshener or packet of nappies for the
lucky lad.

Anyway, though I am all too aware of the natural reservations Irish people have when it comes to articulating matters of the human heart, this doll took the biscuit.

It was the single greatest display of anti-romance I ever witnessed.

But, who knows, maybe appearing like she doesn’t give a toss is this woman’s way of showing her deepest affections.

If they are still going strong this time next year, perhaps she’ll get him a condolences card for Valentine’s 2025.