Will Daryl and Merle rebel against The Governor or fight to the death? Will Rick and the rescue gang save the day, or end up causing more havoc than there was to begin with? And will Andrea close her legs already?
AMC’s original television series The Walking Dead returned from its hiatus this past Sunday, Feb. 10. As a fan, I had some burning questions that needed to be answered.
However, as a student with a calendar and a mild sense of irony, I noticed my favourite show entailing our world’s end returned quite close to another apocalypse of sorts: Valentine’s Day.
Yes, Valentine’s Day can be more horrifying than the Jets losing a home game, but can it be compared to the mutation that the human body theoretically undergoes from human to the undead?
I’m glad you asked.
Let’s take a look at the singletons out there. The hype leading up to Valentine’s Day is enough to turn you into a desperate and pessimistic “walker” - the show’s coined term for a zombie.
I like to translate my transformation from healthy, active student to groaning, disintegrating zombie into a model inspired by Kubler-Ross’s five stages of grief:
1) Denial: “Maybe someone will surprise me on the 14th with roses and chocolate and we’ll live our days drinking chai lattes and reading Sylvia Plath together forever,” sighs your inner romantic. Sorry, sweetie, but don’t count on Prince Hipster to emerge on the day with the highest romantic expectations; those are some pretty large loafers to fill.
2) Anger: You make snide comments on how the 14th is a “Hallmark Holiday,” and some may find their heads filled with plots to publicly scorn Valentine’s Day goers. If this is you, please stay indoors and keep hydrated; you don’t want to add “disturbance of the peace” to your repertoire of Valentine’s Day memories.
3) Bargaining: Your thoughts go from PO’ed to pleading. Exhaustion takes over while you pray to God, Buddha, or Anderson Cooper for someone to finally notice how amazing you are. In return, you promise to stop wasting time on Pinterest’s Geek section and volunteer at your local senior’s home.
4) Depression: Your pleas go unanswered, and you don’t feel like yourself. Instead of popping Prozac, you consume a risky amount of Hershey’s kisses from the comfort of your bed. The body reacts with three extra pounds and your speech becomes indecipherable. (Mounds of milk chocolate will do that.)
5) Acceptance: You succumb to the conversion and have an odd craving for (candy) hearts. Your only clear thoughts are wondering what your ex is up to, and the contemplation of a third helping of rare steak. The best thing to do is keep to yourself and turn up Disturbed’s “Down with the Sickness.”
For those of you with a romantic significant other, V-Day can entail excitement and, of course, romance. Although this is true, getting to that state takes effort and may induce a haze more disorienting than the booze-filled cloud students fight throughout Reading Week.
This haze consists of questions like “Would a chocolate penis be hilarious or hurtful?” and choices between a card featuring a cartoon bear or expensive diamonds that simultaneously signifies your love’s hardiness and beauty. (No fooling, I’ve heard that one before.)
Ultimately, downshifting will occur and your entire being will be driven by the brain stem’s instinct for survival. You’ll fight your way through crowds of other hunched V-Day goers who share the same glazed-over look. Your only goal: getting the heck out of Walmart.
Why do we, the most intelligent species on Earth, voluntarily put ourselves through this year after year? Are romantics correct when they declare it’s all in the name of love? Or is it more likely that the gifts you purchase are to help your chances of devouring your lover, one way or another?
We may never know, Winnipeg.
Fortunately, unlike the characters in The Walking Dead, we have the luxury of returning to our prior state. Feb. 15 is the breath of fresh air your decaying lungs need. The lifeless glare in your eyes lifts and you’re able to view the world as you did before the V-Day metamorphosis began.
Now if only those extra pounds would disappear in a similar fashion…