Dear diary,
It’s me, Cupid, unfortunately.
Listen, I already hate my job, but today is the day I want to hang up the bow and arrow for good. But the bills need to be paid one way or another. People think this is my big day, but the reality is this day is when everything goes to shit … Valentine’s Day.
I wake up already exhausted; my cloud feels heavier than usual today. I open Wingman (yes, I’m still using this garbage app, and no, I don’t like it.), and I’m immediately hit with a flood of notifications. Why am I still single? Why did he watch my story but not reply? Oh, it’s been four years I better get a proposal!
I don’t even know where to begin. The couples? They can be tolerable every other day of the year, but today they become insufferable. They’re getting roses the size of a small child, candle-lit dinners that cost more than rent, especially in this economy, and Instagram captions like, “my forever ❤️🥺.” Like babe, you met three months ago, and he still doesn’t know your middle name. He called you “bro” last week. Calm down.
And don’t even get me started on the proposals. Do you have any idea how many guys think a Jumbotron at a sports game is romantic?
Then there are the singles. Oh my god, the singles are miserable.
You know the type. They swear they’re “fine” and “don’t even care,” about Valentine’s Day, yet somehow, they’ve written a 2,000-word manifesto on why Valentine’s Day is a capitalist scam engineered to trick the working class into the mouth of capitalism. To them, love is stripped of meaning and only seen as a commodity sustained by global supply chains built on exploitation of Third World countries and environmental destitution.
And listen, some of them make solid points. I’ll give them that. But it also doesn’t help when they’ve been single for five years and all the prospects I set them up with end up running away after the first 20 minutes. Maybe capitalism isn’t the sole problem here.
By noon, I’ve already shot 52 arrows, and my shoulder is killing me. I’ve matched a guy who collects anime figurines and a girl who thinks men are the root of all evil. I’ve paired someone who says, “I’m just brutally honest,” (red flag) with someone who cries if you say anything in the wrong tone (different red flag). Honestly, I’m not even aiming anymore I’m just shooting into the void hoping for the best.
Then there’s the TikTok therapy language. Everyone’s watched three videos from a stranger and now suddenly they’re psychologically enlightened and a victim. Every bad date is “toxic.” Every disagreement is “gaslighting,” and after staring a fight and refusing to talk about it they go on about “protecting my peace.” And listen, I say this with love, maybe you’re not a victim but just a shitty partner. It makes my job so much harder when everyone’s busy blaming Mercury in retrograde.
As I’m ready to call it a day, I see something that makes me pause. Just a couple standing in front of a playground, laughing about something stupid. She looks nervous. She tells her she loves her and pulls out a ring, getting down on one knee. And then she also pulls a ring out, also getting down on one knee. Its moments like this that make me forget the rest of the day and remind me love still exists.
Maybe that’s why I keep doing this job.
Or the fact it’s because I’m a nepo baby and Olympus doesn’t offer severance packages, unless you count Tartarus.
Image by: Mallika Badwal | Lead Infinitum Writer
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