Valentine's Day, to me, should be about the beheading for passion's sake. It is the color of a glint of candy apple red melting in the dark. Forget the chocolate and chalk flavored hearts that say "Hot Stuff" and "Be Mine." Forget the cards and dinner. Today is for unbuttoning someone's pants with your teeth and hitching your skirt up too high in public. It is about ruining furniture. Collapse the bedframe, stain the couch, knock over a lamp. Crawl into the backseat, roll under the bed, pull your lover's underwear around the ankles, tie them tightly, and savor your excellent health and fortune like a dog savors its stitches; put your mouth where someone else's mouth is or will be and don't stop till Lent. If you're not going to die for love, the least you can do is turn off the Olympics and pretend to for a day.