It's that time of year again, when lovers pledge their love with flowers and chocolates and edible underwear. And no, I'm not about to go all snarkotic on you. For the record, I'm not a Vinch (a Valentine's Day Grinch). Yes, it's a tad commercial, and makes a mockery of true and deep sentiments, but it's only once a year. What harm can it do?

I do understand why single people are always on the defensive—with hackles at full-mast—around this time of year, though. Valentine's Day, like any holiday deemed fit for gift-giving, is ever more aggressively marketed. And that seems to call for some sort of outcry of cynicism to counter the saccharine sentimentality such marketing schemes invariably engender.

But listen up, singles: it's not worth it. Because criticizing Valentine's these days is taken in much the same way as childless people criticizing the behavior of other people's children in public is. It can't be that your children are vile, atrociously ill-behaved, spoiled little monsters, can it? So it must be that people without children who are bitching about them are just jealous of you for having them, right? Well, some may be. But your kids might still be vile, atrociously ill-behaved, spoiled little monsters, regardless.

Same basic logic applies to bitter critics of Cupid's Day: you must be very lonely and unlovable, poor old dear, to hate this harmless little holiday, and jealous of those who don't. It can't be that we're shallow tools of the FTD-Hallmark-Valentine's Day Consumer-Industrial Complex. You must have been jilted, and then gorged on chocolate, gained a bunch of weight, your face broke out and you lost all your teeth, or something, and now no one could ever possibly love you. Because, well, people worthy of love have lovers, don't they? And they're happy when Valentine's Day rolls around, because it was made just for them! Too bad you're too bitter and twisted to be happy for the lovers this day was made for.

Of course, it's not like singles are some beleaguered minority. A third of Americans over the age of 15 are single, after all.  Almost 100 million people. Single-person households make up a solid quarter of all households in this country. So why is it that singles are still viewed as somehow suspect? Damaged goods. Misfits. Weirdos. Why is there such a stigma attached to going it alone? Can't you be happy being single?

Sometimes it's a hard sell. Take the letter one hurt and angry reader wrote Flip-Side's Meredith Goldstein, after she suggested some self-help books for singles in a Valentine's Day article for The Globe:

Many of us are quite happy and lead fulfilling lives without [someone,] thank you very much. If it happens, okay, but we're not spending our lives on The Great Hunt. Second... you are implying that those who want a partner and don't have one, have something wrong with them. Way to kick someone when s/he's down. They don't get that enough from society in general and their own self-doubt?

She starts out all I am woman, hear me roar, but ends up a wobbly mess, doesn't she? I'm totally fulfilled without a partner, so stop kicking me when I'm down!

She has a point, though.  For more, take a look at Sidekick's recent reflections on Valentine's Day, particularly Globe movie critic Wesley Morris's strange little reverie:

The annual thought persists: "How can you have the ultimate Valentine's Day?" Step one, the thought says: You should skip the online Scrabble and find a date this year. Failing that (because that always fails): Take yourself out. But this year it has to be different. It has to be special. No Penang. No Aram's House of Pizza. No Flamers at the Prudential Center food court. And no self-sent flowers from NPR, either! (Are you that lonely or that liberal?) Why not make a reservation somewhere romantic? Brush your hair, put on a jacket and a nice shirt, undo those top two buttons — no, the top three, you sexy devil! — and sit at the bar, the one at, say, Chez Henri. Head into the dining room and watch the other couples slurp oysters together. Quickly look away when they see you watching them. (You don't even like oysters!) Seriously: Stop staring. And stop flirting with the waitstaff. They don't think you're cute. They think you're sad: If you were in a relationship, their tip would double. Just have your five excellent courses and go home. The Internet Scrabble Club would probably be happy to have you back. Happy Valentine's Day, weirdo.

Who's the weirdo?

The truth is, Valentine's Day would not be half the fun it is for those who do celebrate it without the outsiders, the grumblers and cynics poo-pooing it, the lonely hearts fermenting in their own bitter tears. Because, increasingly the measure of our happiness is the misery we perceive it inspires in others. 

And so it is that these days Valentine's Day is at least as much about being alone as it is about being in love.  It's a form of conspicuous consumption, where coupling is an accoutrement and affection a commodity.  Valentine's Day is increasingly not only about sharing with the one you love, but about showing the world that you are worthy of love, and that someone values your love enough to spend a hundred and fifty bucks on perishables on a made-up holiday to secure it.

But, like I said, I'm down with it.  I like perishables as much as the next guy.  Bring 'em on!