You’re damned if you do, and you’re damned if you dont.
If you decide to boycott the over publicised money making machine that is Valentines day, you’ll almost certainly be branded a tight assed bastard, who doesn’t really love your partner, in fact they don’t even know why they waste their time on you, and their mother always told them it would come to this, and to think they went to the trouble of buying that Paco Rabane toilet water for you as well, well you’re not getting any tonight mister.
Whereas if you do partake in this sham celebration you’ll pay a 500% premium on roses that will be dead within a week (like your sex life if you don’t get them), and end up coughing up somewhere in the region of £100 for a meal of prawn cocktail, Spag Bol, and a bottle of house plonk – all in a restaurant that will be empty and grateful for your custom the day after.
Not that I’m unromantic of course. Oh no. I’m all for a bit of spontaneous romance, I just don’t want to do it just because Hallmark say we should. You may have noticed I don’t like being told what to do by now? And believe me when I say that no matter how much you spend, no matter how creative you get, no matter how much planning or thought went into your valentines evening, I guarantee you, unequivocally, that your missus will know someone who’s partner did that little bit more. Not that she’ll be ungrateful on the outside, oh no. It’s just, that, well, wouldn’t it have been nice if that string quartet you hired knew some Brahms like Julies boyfriends hired orchestra did. Or, you know that plane you hired to write her name in the sky, well, Dave hired the Red Arrows for Tracey.
You’re on a hiding to nothing, accept it. I did. I figured that rather than be beaten by a couple of over-zealous casanova wannabe’s I’d be better off just letting everyone finish ahead of me in the valentines stakes.
Maybe that’s why I’m single this year?
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