For America's singles, let's hope chocolate really is better than sex

Hoorah, it's Valentine's Day, time to feel either a.) depressed that you're alone and bitter at the incessant commercialization that serves only to stimulate the greeting card, chocolate candy, and floral industries, or b.) incredibly anxious because you're pretty sure whatever you bought or made for your Significant Other (if you're a guy, let's be honest - you bought it)(if you're a guy and you made something that isn't a photo album, chances are you're a sissy and you lost your balls in her purse long ago) isn't good enough, which will lead them to question what the hell they're doing with you in the first place. It wouldn't be as bad if the holiday wasn't in February, which I figure to be the least romantic month of the year, especially if you're above the Mason-Dixon line. Nothing says romance like softly grabbing your partner's hand as you drive home from an evening out, only to jerk it out so you can grab the wheel and avoid careening into the snow plow that's spreading salt all over the street, turning whatever snow that's managed to fall in the bitter cold from a soft sensual white to a sexy brown sludge. This holiday should really be in June.

Is Valentine's Day bullshit? Yes, it is. It began, originally, as a Roman fertility festival, which would find its modern day equivalent in a "Pimps and Ho's" frat party, basically an excuse for everyone to be drunk and horny and spank each other. Yet here we are, suffering through months of ads for Vermont Teddy Bears (Yay! My idiot boyfriend got me a teddy bear that looks like a pirate! Maybe I won't tell him I'm banging Ted in marketing for another month or so) and hoping that a random day in the dead of winter doesn't turn into a total relationship cluster-fuck disaster because the puppies on the card you bought look fat.

Anyway, last week a story broke about two embracing skeletons being unearthed near Verona, and of course, the afternoon news was filled with snippets about the original Romeo and Juliet. I immediately feared that whoever does the advertising for DeBeers would snatch up the photo and use it in a last-ditch Valentine's Day campaign, some lame-ass variation on "a diamond is forever". I called a friend of mine that works in advertising to make sure that if her company had that account, they'd give me money, because it's obviously a brilliant, if not nauseating, idea.

I passed the idea on to yet another friend of mine, who thought it would be ironic if the skeletons turned out to be that of two men. My wheels spun some more. If that was the case, I thought Snickers could capitalize and maybe take some heat off their much-criticized Super Bowl ad. Just imagine it now:

Two dude skeletons uncovered in Italy.
"Oh man, I think we were just buried in the sand embracing each other for six thousand years!"
"Damn, is that gay?"
"Maybe. Quick, do something manly!"
Nothing happens. They groan as they try to move. Then, one of the skeleton's femurs decomposes and blows away in the wind.
"Yes!"
And then the tagline: SNICKERS: NOT IF YOU'RE A HOMO.

Perfect. I don't think anyone will have any problem with that.

Well, I have a date.

With a frozen pizza. And it doesn't care if I think it's too round.