Here Comes Cherub

The season again is upon us when the winged little cherub starts to shoot arrows at gender-specific humans, with the sole aim of coercing them into buying red-wrapped gifts and confectionary for opposite-gender-specific humans, who are, as is customary, lined up hands outstretched like matriarchs in an Italian Mafia family.

There is no doubt in my mind that there is a sort of mafia thing going on here. Men are made offers they cannot refuse: you either turn into a romantic slush or it means you do not love me. You’d better get out there and buy the best gift you cannot afford, if you’re going to get a leg over tonight. The larger the red envelope-ensconced card, the deeper your affection for me is the message. Flowers, those pretty things that die within 48 hours, galore.

Shops have picked up on this deft male emasculation to devote whole sections to the worship of pink and red.

For those to whom the fact that women are smart is still questionable, why do you think the quiver-wielding, fat boy employed for this task is a male called Cupid? Why not Cupida or Cupidina or Cupidess? Why not, for that matter, Sikira? Oh no, it’s got to be Sikiru*.

*Sikira is a Nigerian name exclusive to women as Sikiru is to men.