Valentine’s Day is this Sunday. There’s even a movie coming out with the same title. Who gives a shit I say. Valentine’s Day sucks. Always has. Always will. It doesn’t matter if you’re single or married. It’s a double-edged sword. You’re damned if you show a little extra effort making her and every woman she knows question why you’re not like that the other 364 days a year. And damned if you don’t make an extra effort because even though she says she doesn’t care about the “Hallmark holiday”, she really does and wants you to care too. SHE can be your wife; your girlfriend; your mistress; your friend with benefits; the girl at Starbucks you just started talking to a day ago; your out-of-state side piece ass; your booty call….whatever. You’re screwed regardless. Hopefully, it ends up being literally.
Chocolates. Roses. Cards. Champagne. Strawberries. Dinner. Sex. Lots o’red. This is what it comes down to. This is the theme. This is what it’s all about. We’re taught this at the age of 6 in the first grade when our mothers went out and bought those mini Valentine’s Day card lollipop things and told us to give them out to everybody in school. But we never did. You only gave them out to your closest friends and ate the rest. And this is also when the pretty girl got her first taste of a life time of ass kissing by getting the most card lollipops. She’s fat now. Saw her on facebook. And God forbid if you were the smelly kid because he never got any cards and cried the rest of the day. Poor bastard. He’s a millionaire now. But still smells. And in adulthood the only thing worse than those people out being all romantic and shit are those single “Anti-Valentine’s” nuts who dress all in black to show you just how much they hate the holiday. All you’re showing is that you’re batshit crazy and couldn’t get a date. And by doing this, you’re going to stay single. Good job.
I’m biased because a few years ago I made the mistake of having a first date on Valentine’s Day. Long story short. She called herself Princess. Seriously. And I was thinking exactly what you’re thinking. Hottie must be a stripper! High five! But she wasn’t. Oh no. Turns out she was a witch. Not mean, but an actual “I will put a spell on your ass” witch! She had a giant dragon choking a rooster tattoo on her back. She smoked a pound of weed a week. An old man ghost tried to choke her every night when she came home from work. Every night! Cats were afraid of her. That part I liked actually. She hated life and her only joy was playing show tunes with her guitar while sitting on her giant orange couch. Her most prized possession. The couch, not the guitar. She told me all of this in the first half hour of the date. Where she drank 4 Guiness. I was in shock. I’m not easily shocked. I got up, said “Happy Valentine’s Day. Honey get help. Soon.” Dropped a twenty down. And left. I left her and anything Valentine’s Day behind that night. Ruining it for any woman I’ve been with since during the holiday. I tell that story, they understand why. Valentine’s Day sucks.
Until next time. Always take it there.