Taking a leaf from Bridget Jones, I'll likely pass Saturday evening gorging myself on endorphin-inducing chocolate desserts and pathetic attempts at karaoke.

But under no circumstances will I even consider lowering my standards for some dubious example of the male species. If that means I'll remain single, so be it.

As I wean myself off my latest addiction - a chemical engineer with admirable culinary skills - I brace myself for the withdrawal symptoms: a good few weeks of angst, contradictions, and hyperbole flash before my eyes.

Consistency in love is not my forte. This side of my character always disappoints me, although evolution probably programmed women to be selective, in the interests of better child rearing.

This is, of course, why females are perfectly entitled to be fickle until they settle down.

If we're going to spend the rest of life with just one man, why shouldn't we expect him to be our own Prince Charming?

Much as I hate to view life from such a clinically detached lens, Mother Nature dictates that a woman's greatest assets - with regards to the propagation of the human race - are youth and health. Time is too precious to waste waiting for an impasse in a budding romance to miraculously disappear.

Men fail to understand the necessity of maintaining a balance between being adequately aggressive and sweetly subtle. The lack of this equilibrium is often what stalls progress in a relationship.

But I digress.

Valentine's Day is held in honour of St Valentine, who braved a Roman edict forbidding marriage by secretly conducting the matrimonial ceremony for young lovers.

In the spirit of this tradition, I urge you to brave the sickening onslaught of lace and flowers: defy the expected conventions and celebrate with those whose love you can always count on - family and friends.

Cynthia is a student at the University of Pennsylvania