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Well, it has come again: Valentine’s Day. Here is my tribute to this greeting card pushing holiday. I am sure that Hallmark cringes at the thought of all the homemade cards traded by school kids. Before the cynicism gets the better of me I had better put in a better thought.
Valentine’s Day is always a rocky day. So many relationships hinge on the choices made by a guy. Rose and dinner mean romantic love. Crotchless panties from Wal-mart mean that the relationship is over in two weeks.
Recently, I received an email from a friend. She wrote in her short note that she has learned that men face the same biological clock that women face. We are both thirty-five and neither of us are looking to have children. This puts both of us at odds with the the other 99% of straight humanity (statistic from Pulled It Out My Ass Polling Services). It, however, doesn’t mean that we do not want the other things that the masses want: passionate and stable relationships. It also means that we face Valentine’s Day differently than the masses. Why is the question. I can’t speak for her, but I do have some idea about myself.
Dita on the rocks. When I said I would drink her bath water, I wasn’t speaking literally. Okay, maybe I was a little literal.
Oh! I wish I was little bar of soap. Bar of soap./Oh! I wish I was little bar of soap. Bar of soap.