Ever wonder what Valentine's Day may be like from a man's point of view?  Check out the perspective below from guest blogger, Alan Kercinik, author of AlwaysJacked.com.

Men, apparently, are not good at Valentine’s Day. The situation is so bad that it has inspired one company to create an app that helps men shop for the holiday.

What women don’t understand – because we men refuse to actually tell them this – is that we have performance anxiety. There are these moments that cause a deer-in-the-headlights feeling because we want them to be perfect. And we hate to disappoint.

Like getting engaged. Most guys I know have made a big deal out of it. There are trips planned. Horses and carriages secured. Violinists. Skydivers. Surprise parties. Juggling monkeys. (Maybe not that last one. But that would be cool.)

We do this because we’re MEN. We want to come in and sweep her off her feet and be the hero. We go for pyrotechnics and special effects. Remember, we’re the people who saw not one, but two, Transformers movies.

Valentine's Day is kind of like this, but on a smaller scale. Unless you decide to get engaged on Valentine’s Day. For men about to do that, I salute you. For the rest of your marriage, you will hear some variation on: “Remember that Valentine’s Day when we got engaged? Why don’t you do something like that for me again?”

Valentine’s Day is painful enough without that kind of pressure, thanks to the romantical-industrial complex telling us that we’d better make with the diamonds and flowers and chocolates and expensive dinners out otherwise we are clearly unworthy.

Cue flop sweat.

My wife and I have been together for almost nine years and married for about six. I can say without fear of her rebuttal that one of her top five Alan moments was me cleaning the house.

We'd had this party for our son, Jack, that had taken a lot out of us. After the forty or so guests left, our condo looked like it had been hit by a flatware tornado. We surveyed the damage and said, "That can wait until tomorrow."

The next morning, I woke up early, took Jack downstairs, popped him in his high chair, gave him some cereal and turned on some music. Dishes got washed. Pots got scrubbed. Hot spots got disinfected. Extra tables were put away. I danced around a little for the boy, as I am wont to do, and he had some laughs. I don’t know why. I’m an incredible dancer.

When my wife came downstairs, it was like I had proposed all over again. Her eyes got a little wet. "You did this?"

"You threw a helluva party. I just can't get the frosting off the ceiling."

Grand gestures. They have their place. But the little gestures, the ones that say “I was thinking about you and you matter to me more than anyone and we’re in this together”, those work pretty well, too.

So yes, for Valentine’s Day, I’ll take her out. We make a real effort to do things as a couple instead of just as parents. But I’m also going to try and do something small. She’ll remember it long after we’ve forgotten about dinner.

Especially if I can work that juggling monkey into it.