He stands at my door with a dozen - no, two dozen - deep, red roses that are so perfectly formed they could win a blue ribbon in the county fair horticulture division. As I sit there with my arms filled with fragrant roses, he drops down on one knee to pl edge his eternal devotion to me and my beautiful eyes, charming nose, sensuous lips and dazzling body - not to mention witty personality and astounding intellect.

As if.

I am boycotting Valentine's Day. I label it as a holiday where normally sane people go crazy, lose their self-respect and think that life will be much nicer when they are happily hooked up. Can you tell I'm single?

There is a frenzy of goodwill rocketing around the world during the month of February. People are especially nice to one another. The exchange rate of gold on the stock market probably increases as lovers try to outdo each other in an excess of giving. Mo re hearts are broken during this month than in all others combined.

Pink and red decorate the stores everywhere. Was I the only person whose mother taught the rules of complimentary colors? ("No, honey, red and pink fight with each other - see, they aren't across from each other on the color wheel.") Not only are you vis ually assaulted by a hideous color combination (one that would never work if people were actually looking at what they were seeing instead of wandering around with a dazed, glassy-eyed stare), but you are emotionally assaulted by your coupled friends and their explosions of slap-happy affection. Please, enough already!

But no. Everything is geared toward love. What is love anyway? That sickening feeling in your stomach that makes you wonder if you're constipated? It can't be - there would be a lot more bathrooms in this world if that were the case.

Stores try to brainwash the customer into buying something "love-ly." I found myself in Hallmark reading mushy poetry and wishing for Prince Charming and a nice white horse, tears and snot running down my face. As the perky (probably coupled) Hallmark cus tomer satisfaction representative approached me with a Kleenex, I nearly drowned in a puddle of despair.

I'm boycotting Hallmark now, too.

Maybe it's just jealousy. But then, I have experienced the flip-side: the unwanted Valentine. This happened in grade school, where only the nerds cared about love. Geeky George confessed his eight-year-old love and I spurned him. I held out for Big Boy Bo bby, rejecting the offerings of George the Geek, giving his chocolates to my dog and scarring poor Geeky George's memories of Valentine's Day forever.

Little did I know that I should have taken George up on his offer. Big Boy Bobby is now rotting in prison after inciting a messy bar room brawl while George is working his way up to CEO of Microsoft. I always did have good judgment.

Well, for all of you blissful couples in the world, I offer these bitter comments:

The flowers will die. The card will be stained with your tears when you break up. He'll have extraordinarily bad breath when he kisses you.

Maybe someday I'll understand the strange ritual of Valentine's Day. Maybe someday I will actually partake in it.

Until then I'll boycott the day and destroy every conversation heart I can find.

"Kiss Me" indeed!

Jimi Jo Story is a Wildcat news reporter.