When I heard someone renamed Feb. 14 “V-Day,” as in “Vagina Day,” I thought: optimist.

Then I found out it had something to do with monologues and I thought, “oh, talking.” I pretty much stopped thinking after that – a good policy around Valentine’s Day.

VD: Those letters give me hope. Hope that every last whore-born employee of Hallmark will contract a voracious Venereal Disease as punishment for the cruel and expensive sham of a holiday they have forced upon a sorry nation, with help from florists, jewelers, confectioners and bartenders.

Valentine’s Day isn’t even a holiday; a holiday implies a day off. Work? Class? Both still here. Try President’s Day; I understand it’s a little more generous.

What do we get? Well, lovers go bankrupt, and the lonely get emotionally crucified. Choose your own adventure.

Couples (or trios) can console each other. Enjoy your VD sex. Try not to rub it in, even if you are using cherry-flavored lubricants.

This column is for people wondering where everyone went, for the lone rangers and the walking wounded.

This is for the woman who’s cuter than she thinks she is, wears a jacket when it’s cold and doesn’t know the lyrics to “Gimmie Dat Nut.”

This is for the guy who bathes regularly, has worn the same shoes for the last two years and doesn’t know the lyrics to “Gimmie Dat Nut.”

This is for the dates, flings and loves that fell apart. There was a reason we kissed those people. We saw something in their eyes and wondered what it tasted like on their lips. Later, they wanted too much, too little, other things were going on, the sex got odd, politics didn’t agree, the music was awful, someone slept around, the sky was a little too blue on a Thursday – whatever. But they tasted good for a little while, before time and distance did things in. Be grateful, even if you did end up with a hole in your wall, a broken hand and the hope that they would gain fifty pounds and get sexually harassed by a dolphin at SeaWorld. Forget that stuff.

Remember that first person, the one who changed everything for the first time. Remember how, when they got close, the smell crept into the back of your nose and was so ripe. Remember staring at the spot where their neck disappeared into their shoulders and wondering what you had done right. Mostly, we don’t speak to these people. Quiet thanks will do.

Maybe we wish we were with someone today. When they laugh, their whole body moves. They doodle in notebooks, and when they’re quiet, the whole room aches. When they’re angry, the world must have done something wrong. They care about something beautiful and whisper the words to the right songs.

For whatever reason, you’re not with them. The world can be an awful place – someone, somewhere let Brittany Spears cover “Satisfaction.” Muddle on.

Take a walk. Alone. In the rain. Feel the wind and be grateful. Make someone blush into coffee. Make a little warmth and bundle up; the National Weather Service is predicting highs in the 50s.

As for me, I’m going to have a long, slow m