Book of Daze: Returning Valentine Presents Day

The annual tradition of Returning Valentine Presents is marked by a fevered procession to the customer service counter of every department store in the nation.

The historical record is silent regarding the origin of Returning Valentine Presents Day, though scholars of the trivial suggest it began in 1984. On that February fifteenth, a woman named Gladys in Des Moines, who had received a three-pound, heart-shaped box of chocolates that was seventy-five percent coconut filling, marched to a local department store and traded it for a sack of bitter kale and a subscription to a magazine about solitude.

Thus, the first spark of post-Valentine indignation was lit, and the movement spread faster than a seasonal flu through a crowded kindergarten. A woman in Philadelphia who was gifted an oversized teddy bear with a “Hug Me” sweater donated it to a local kennel, where it  provided five minutes of joyous destruction for a bored Labrador-mix.

People who received a piece of jewelry that looked like it came from a pharmacy display case, wore it upside down until the sun sets as a signal of distress.

Returning Valentine Presents Day is a cleansing of the soul from the lingering stench of forced sentimentality and synthetic rose petals. Participants should  approach the return desk with the stoic dignity of a Victorian widow. The objective is to exchange that electric foot massager—which vibrates with the subtle grace of a jackhammer—for something of actual utility, such as a heavy-duty stapler or a six-month supply of industrial-grade coffee filters. If the clerk asks for the reason for the return, sigh deeply and whisper that the gift was “insufficiently whimsical,” or perhaps “too loud for the cat.”

Returning Valentine Presents Day concludes with the lighting of receipts. Celebrants gather around a small fire built from the carbon copies of overpriced dinner checks and florist invoices. As the smoke rises, they recite the Ancient Vow of Self-Sufficiency: “I could have bought that blender for myself and it would not have asked me if its breath smelled like onions.”

Once the embers begin to fade, Returning Valentine Presents Day officially ends, leaving everyone free to return to their normal lives of quiet desperation and sensible footwear.

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