National Unrequited Love Day

August 6th, National Unrequited Love Day must be a thing because it showed up on my Outlook calendar today. After all, Microsoft is the authority on everything. Truth be told, it is not a real holiday which seems plain wrong. We have National Pancake Day, Ice Cream Day, Mustard Day, and yesterday was National Work Like a Dog Day, which while true enough for many of us, is inspired by the hard work of service dogs. First, do dogs care that they have instigated a national day? Second, I am baffled by the paradox. Are they lazing about living their "Dog's Life" or not? Yesterday was also National Underwear Day. Granted most of us either wear underwear or have once worn underwear, but arguably, most everyone has been on one side or the other of unrequited love. I postulate if we can have a National Wiggle Your Toes Day on August 6th, we cannot be so dismissive of a day of such emotional import as National Unrequited Love Day. So, I typed it into Google search, the other authority on all things, expecting to find that I was mistaken. That while August 6th is my Unrequited Love Day, there must be a national one awaiting my calendar correction. My search query decided that I was asking about National Rhode Island Day (October 5th for all you Roger Williams fans looking for religious freedom in an intolerant world). As the Rolling Stones so eloquently pointed out, “you don’t always get what you want, but you get what you need”. I wonder. So, I pondered why a day emblazoned on my calendar and in my conscious should get such short shrift. As an economist, I suspect it might be for lack of demand. The recipient of unwanted affection, let’s call her the victim, would place the holiday right up there beside National Car Crash Day or National Home Burglarized Day. She is sauntering along, relatively content, when someone happens by and falls in love with her. She neither needed it nor wanted it. There is not much she can do but discourage and persevere. Hardly an occasion to commemorate each year, besides what do you send your perpetrator on such a holiday? Perp seems so severe. As a perp, I propose the alternative term, besotted. Why besotted is preferable is that it captures the truth that the perp is often an unwilling participant as well. For me, I was reconciled in my personal life, not searching for love, and she walked into my office, all perfect, and proceeded to unknowingly seduce me for the next few months. It is instructive to reflect that besotted also means stupefied. So, yes, besotted seems just about right. In life, we all have wins and losses. For the besotted, rejected romantic advancements are most certainly a loss. It would be very un-American to have a day set aside to celebrate losses. We are a country of winners.

As the besotted, what do you buy the woman of your dreams on National Unrequited Love Day. As the 180-degree holiday to St. Valentine’s Day, all romantic gifts are off the table. No matter how much she loves chocolate, it is not an option. It is apropos that it is almost six months on the calendar from that lover’s holiday, juxtaposed we might suggest. Chocolate works in February and melts on the porch in August, especially as she is expecting nothing. Who knows how long it might sit on her stoop? What is available in greeting cards? I went out to Blue Mountain and typed "Unrequited Love". It raised my hopes with 499 choices. Just as quickly they were dashed when I discovered my "unrequited" was discarded from the search term like a tween's Justin Bieber poster. I was left with 100 ways to tell my victim that I loved her.

I am the master of the unromantic, romantic gift. She has figured that out about me. I suspect she is suspicious of any overture because every gambit suggests that I am still besotted, and she, unwary, could still be a victim. One year, I sent her dog a stuffed elephant from World Wildlife Fund thereby wrapping the celebration of the service dog holiday (the Shih Tzu has never done a day of service in its 13-year life) with her love of elephants. Gifts for pets are always a safe alternative.

To be fair to the truly committed besot, I find those perps who are rejected, crying in whatever folks cry into these days, to be amateurs. The professional besot hangs in there. To do otherwise calls into doubt any sincerity, a lack of any real conviction, an unwillingness to do or die. Let's be empathetic and think about it from the victim’s perspective. One day it is “I love you with an undying love.” The next, “Oh, you rebuffed my overtures. Well, I guess I will move on.” We must wonder what hurts more. Isn't it better to be that person totally adored for eternity? Who wants to be the person who can be gotten over so easily, in the moment? A professional besot sticks with it. National Unrequited Love Day exists for him or her. A day of remembrance of what could have been if the other had been able to overlook whatever was staring her in the face. Perhaps, only if the besot had been more persuasive, or at least taller and better-looking.

I was trying to construct a metaphor for unrequited love, and I started with the thought of me, a walker on a multi-use, no-motor-vehicle path so ubiquitous in cities these days. A cyclist runs into me. No one is really hurt. But when it happens each day, it becomes annoying and a bit bruising. I realize, I am the cyclist. She is the walker. She is moseying down the path, minding her own business, happily contemplating life. I am repeatedly catapulting into her, disrupting her solitude. I am the bruiser rather than the bruiseé. I find my metaphor completely dissatisfying because I want to be the victim. I am not a bad person. I do truly love her, and as a professional besot, I cannot un-love her, cavalier in my affections. Yet, I am the perpetrator.

Lots of words for August 6th, the anniversary of the day, so long ago, she told me she could not, would not, entertain my romantic notions. I would like to say I will not tell her I love her tomorrow. A betting man would say I won’t, but who knows? A committed besot lives with unrequited love for a lifetime.

(Besot is not a noun and my converting it into one has an established tradition. I reference the usage of “invite”. I spent a lifetime convinced that “invite” is a verb, and its noun formation is “invitation”. One day, Outlook was sending me “invites” with abandon. Good for the goose, good for the gander, I say.)