I hate Valentines Day the way I hate painful hemorrhoid itch.
And NO – it is not because I ever had my heart broken on 2/14. Lots o my 20’s was spent consoling friends who had their hearts broken, usually around this time of year. I think this day was created to make women feel awful.
Romance is such crap, unsustainable and ultimately disappointing. Roses make me sneeze. I can get my own chocolate. Any bling I have ever received is sitting in its box in my dresser. No, I do not want to put on control top pantyhose and go out to dinner with the romantics. Yuck.
Give me a man who can change the oil in my car, kill a big spider and sit up with a sick kid. That is my definition of sexy.
I can always close my eyes and imagine James Marsters.
But, could I ever really trust a guy with a smaller pants size than me? Would he bring me coffee on a Saturday morning when I am lying like a slug in bed?
Oh who cares anyway – in another few hours VD will be as far away as it can get for another year.
That is something to celebrate.