Can I just say that walking into the lobby of the building where I work this morning only to be accosted by a huge basket of red and pink Hershey kisses was totally unncessary? I don't even want to get into the fact the this building turned the 12-days-of-Christmas into a two month long fiasco complete with string quartets and carolers and Dicken's characters and awkward breakfast buffets and then, towards the end when they were running out of ideas and/or money, one lone guy with a Casio keyboard plucking out Jingle Bells as though each note were as painful as Mary giving birth in that god damn barn.
No, I don't want to get into that. But I do want to let you know that I do not appreciate their attempt to force me to linger pathetically over an oversized wicker basket full of chocolate while strangers push by me in a ridiculous attempt to pretend like they actually want to make it to work on time. No. I prefer to do my shame-inducing emotional eating at home, alone, with my remote control and an episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Don’t try to trick me into partaking in that kind of behavior in public by placing a trough of chocolate between me and the elevator.
So yeah, you'll be shocked to hear I'm not a huge Valentine's Day girl. I won't be going out to some cheesy prix fixe dinner. And I won't be feeding my boyfriend chocolate cake from a plate that has "Happy Valintine's Day" misspelled in raspberry sauce. And I won't be exchanging mediocre presents, or putting on lacy lingerie, or trying to give the best blow job of my life because I actually didn't get him anything because I didn't know that exchanging presents on Valentine's Day was something people really did. Why won’t a perfectly mediocre blow job suffice? I mean, it’s a Monday for fuck’s sake. No one should be getting a blow job at all!
(I actually have no idea what that last part means, but it sounds like something that is likely very true.)
So, uh, no. I won't be doing any of that...
Instead I'll be doing what every girl should do: Putting on a pair of cupid wings, a sparkly headband, and going to spin class and dinner with her very best friend.
Watch out. Or I will shoot you with my arrow. And then you'll be no better off than I.