Wiggum in a Bart Simpson world.
Say what you want about Valentine's Day, but the time honoured tradition of the slit cut in a shoebox to receive cards from your classmates is a very early indicator of your social status for your entire school career....if not beyond.
Yes, everyone was supposed to give cards to all class members, but it rarely worked that way. Early on, we gave to select friends and people we wanted to have as friends. Be deemed unpopular by one person and you could be on the road to Obscurityland. Or worse - Ridiculeville.
Invariably, someone would do the heavy sigh/moan that Ralph did. Usually, there were wasn't a Lisa to take pity on you and slip the obligatory card into your box. It was social Darwinism at its most primal. (I love hyperbole, don't you?)
For those of us who figured out their sexual identity somewhat early, Valentine's Day is pretty much of a non-event...especially if you ended up at a same-sex high school. I doubt very much Gene Staiger would have appreciated a card slipped into his locker from me.
As it stands now the day means nothing more than a Hallmark/FTD event. The BF made me a handmade card a few years ago that meant more to me than most anything I have ever received.
Let's face it - if you need to set aside one pre-determined day per year to say 'I love you', you might need to re-examine that relationship.
We say it everyday - and mean it. ...but V-day is always a good excuse for a nice meal.