If you walk into any grocery store this week, you definitely noticed that distinct shift in the atmosphere. The air smells less of “buy me for $59.99” used t-shirts and more like an explosion of synthetic rose petals and overpriced heart-shaped chocolate boxes. Yes, Valentine’s Day has arrived. And, if you’re like me, you’re currently looking for the nearest exit. Preferably one that isn’t decorated with neon pink heart-shaped tinsel.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a total Grinch. If you know me then you know I enjoy love just as much as anyone else. But ,there is something about February 14th that just feels like a mandatory performance in a play I never auditioned for.

Maybe I’m biased, because my romantic track record looks less like a rom-com and more like a psychological thriller. While some people spend this week dreaming of candlelit dinners, I’m busy remembering the ex who once tried to “surprise” me by showing up in my room uninvited late at night like a low-budget Spider-Man, or the one who decided Valentine’s Day was the perfect time to “re-evaluate our cosmic energy” (translation: he wanted to break up with the gift of a drawing of my face).

Much like the panic of accidentally sending a “he’s so annoying” text to the person you’re talking about, my dating history is a series of lessons in what not to do. When your past involves people who think “communication” means vague-tweeting about something you do wrong, or “spontaneity” means disappearing for three days, a holiday dedicated to “perfect pairs” feels like a personal prank.

We’ve turned affection into a competitive sport. If you didn’t post a picture of your giant teddy bear or a colorful bouquet, are you even dating?

We spend the weeks leading up to the big day in a state of “Exam Season” level stress. We’re scrambling for dinner reservations at places we normally wouldn’t even set foot in, all to sit in a crowded room where every table is exactly six inches apart. You’re forced to watch other couples engage in the “Valentine’s Stare”, the looks of an intense, forced romance that usually masks the fact that they’ve run out of things to talk about; they are actually just wondering how expensive the breadsticks are.

The problem is that Valentine’s day suggests that 364 days of being a questionable partner can be overshadowed by one day of failing to secure a specific box of chocolates. It’s the ultimate “I did my homework five minutes before class” move of the romantic world.

So, this year I’m opting out. I’m trading the wilted roses and the “crazy ex” flashbacks for a melted chocolate bar and a movie with an absolute zero point zero percent chance of a wedding at the end.

To the couples that were sweating over making cheap gift baskets: Godspeed. To my fellow skeptics: Stay strong. The 15th is just a day away, and more importantly that’s when the chocolate goes on 50% clearance. Now that is a stable relationship I can get behind.