We look to TV to figure out what we do on Valentine’s. We can’t find perfect cards, anywhere, that have the right words on. Some days we wonder if it matters: fiancé, fiancée.
And the film they plug for years after isn’t helpful, and the TV shows we watch are office romances, love stories between people who in real life would end up alone.
But we book tickets, reserve seats, buy overpriced cards and paper, because we’re hopeful, because Michael Scott got his happy ending, and we might meet someone by Tuesday.