So we survived another Valentine’s Day. I suppose that’s something…
Single people are still single and I assume most couples are still together. Let us pause and be grateful that there is now booku amounts of chocolate on sale and that we don’t have to pretend to be sorry for ourselves anymore.
I only have one Valentine’s Day memory. For my 23 years and for someone with as gorgeous a face as mine I consider this a travesty. I basically am the inspiration for the anthem of all single ladies, “All By Myself”.
Yeah, not really. The day I take myself that seriously is the day—and I do hate to be cliché—that pigs fly.
Since it is the 15th and I assume you’re going to need a little giggle to work off whatever funk (chocolate, sex, boozed up) you go in to on the Day of Love I am going to share with you my sole Valentine’s Day story. It’s a high school story so naturally it’s going to be good. It’s also a rebound story, to give you hope.
Gather round, chickens!
Senior lounge was a “class” where all the soon-to-be future leaders of the world were corralled in a basement and were expected to live it up. Mostly it was a study hall but with only seniors and in a basement. I, fortunately, had this class first period and used it as an excuse to sleep in. All the time. There was no credit, no teacher, and my hair wasn’t going to do itself, people.
Second semester I was inspired into perfect attendance by the addition of T.P. to my “class”. Despite his despairing initials T.P. was the love of my life (at the time, I’ve had about 53 more since then). He was tall, an asshole, had a nice head of hair and did stupid, sentimental stuff like crossword puzzles and gardening. I had spent the last three years hating his guts until one day I just flipped a switch and BOOM! I was in love.
This is a theme in all of my relationships. I need to get that stuff analyzed.
There was one huge, sort of important detail about T.P. (giggle) that stood in the way of our eventual love story: his girlfriend.
This is another theme of mine, guys with girlfriends.
B.O. (holy shit I am not making this up) was an extremely feminist, college freshman at a dinky liberal arts school that was more than three hours away.
I say “extremely feminist” in a way that implies I don’t know how to describe her nicely. I can only articulate it like this: the first time I went to T.P.’s house for the “meet his parents” session his mother did a double take and said “well, at least this one looks like a girl”. Yeaaah.
Suffice it to say that I knew I could take down B.O. with my hands tied behind my back and my girlish guile. It proved to be a lot simpler than I anticipated when on February 14th I strolled into senior lounge and found T.P. sitting dejected and weeping at our table.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked, slamming my book bag on the table in my typically genteel fashion.
He didn’t say anything but pushed a piece of copy paper towards me. “Read it”, he croaked.
B.O. had dumped T.P. via email the night before.
Score one for looking like a girl!
Apparently they had “grown apart” and she “no longer felt he was an important facet in her mental and physical growth as a human being”. At the end there were a few haikus. I can’t remember them but they were most assuredly 1) sappy 2) poorly written and 3) apologies.
He shared his break up haikus with me! I was good to go!
“I’m… sorry…” I effortlessly squeezed the words out. He ripped the paper out of my hands and stared at it for 30 minutes.
“We used to write haikus back and forth to each other.”
“That’s stupid.” I believe I punctuated that sentiment by cracking my gum loudly and rolling my eyes. “Dude, she looks like a man. Let it go.”
Not surprisingly, T.P. didn’t talk to me the rest of the day. That was a feat as I was in four of his seven classes. Also not surprisingly, he didn’t rebound with me. He took some other bimbo to dinner a few times. That bimbo happened to be my best friend.
She later confessed that he just spent the whole time talking about me and she didn’t know why she was the one out to dinner with him. I later confessed to her that I hated her guts and she should have turned down his dinner offer.
Score two for looking like a girl! (I notoriously keep ugly friends to boost my overall self-worth).
Two weeks later I was T.P.’s girlfriend. The rest, as they so stupidly say, is history.
Go find yourself a rebound, folks! This is the day! Woo!