Let me be honest. I’ve always had a bit of animosity toward Valentine’s Day.

It’s not that I don’t like valentines or chocolates or flowers. I’ve even been known to wear a pink shirt on occasion.

It’s just that I usually find the holiday quite anti-climactic. It doesn’t really help that my birthday falls on Feb. 13. Or the fact that I have been dateless for 95 percent of the Valentine’s Days I have endured thus far. (Soon to be 95.238 percent, but who’s counting?)

Deep down, though, I know the real reason for my hostility toward Valentine’s Day: those darn candy hearts with their grammatically challenged phrases painted on with edible red ink. You know, the ones that taste like sweetened toothpaste mixed with chalk. Have you ever bitten down on one, expecting it to squish malleably between your teeth, only to find that you might as well be chewing on a rock? It’s no wonder that you can only buy them during February. If they were sold year-round, people would remember how nauseating they taste and refuse to purchase them.

That being said, I have nevertheless resolved to have a splendid Valentine’s Day this year. Being single is no reason to dread the lover’s holiday, so I shall do my best to offer some advice to my fellow singletons on how to avoid the Valentine’s Day blues.

First, some pitfalls to avoid:

* Do not fall prey to Valentine’s Day conspiracy theories. No, the holiday is not a plot by the greeting card, flower, chocolate and teddy bear industries to subdue the proletariat and grow rich through oligopoly pricing tactics. Even if that were true, do you really want to spend the day handing out literature claiming that chocolate is the opiate of the masses and trying to foment revolution?

* Resist falling into full-fledged Valentine’s Day hate. Wearing black is acceptable, but you’ve definitely crossed a line when you start responding to friendly “Happy Valentine’s Day” greetings with “Don’t impose your religion on me!” or “Great, another holiday named after a dead white guy.” Your friends will start pitying you, and they’ll force you to attend their Meg Ryan movie marathon. The cure is worse than the disease. Then there’s always the nuclear option: they’ll try to set you up on a blind date. Which leads me to my last point:

* Do not, under any circumstances, go on a blind date. Not even if your best friend personally vouches for the suitability of her boyfriend’s roommate’s co-worker’s brother. The market for blind dates is like the market for used cars. They both suffer from what economists call “adverse selection.” A high-quality used car rarely gets put on the market because its owner fears that the car’s value won’t be recognized and, subsequently, the car won’t fetch a good offer. As a result, the market is flooded with lemons. The same concept applies to blind dates. There are a lot more Kips out there than LaFawnduhs.

So what should I do on Valentine’s Day? you ask. The answer is less than obvious, but brilliant. Date your laundry.

It’s the perfect date. It’s cheap. It will keep you preoccupied for several hours. It won’t stand you up. No reservations are required. And it’s bound to leave you feeling warm and fuzzy. What more could you ask for?

There’s even an additional bonus: every person you meet in the laundry room or at the laundromat is in all likelihood a) single, and b) possessing at least a modicum of concern about cleanliness — two prerequisites to any lasting relationship.

Don’t hesitate. Make a date with your laundry basket, and you too will be able to walk around with the confidence that comes from being able to say “I have Valentine’s Day plans.”