I F*cking Hate Valentine’s Day:

by Rachael Kostelec

For many of us, it doesn’t feel like Al Capone and Bugs Moran led the only St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Whether or not you are in a relationship when February 14th strikes, the pressures are still on. If you are committed to someone the expectations are probably high. Serious planning, large quantities of money, and grand gestures are in order if you plan on keeping them around next year. If you haven’t been struck by that little bastard cupid and his notorious arrows, you are probably not anticipating the annual reminder of your singledom and you have some serious decisions to make. Do you try your hardest and pretend that this day magically fell off the calendar this year and go about your business? Do you break your New Year’s Resolution already and kill an entire box of chocolates that you bought for yourself while watching a self-induced rom-com marathon? Or do you do as I do and rally the few friends you have who are still riding solo, get naked wasted and celebrate your singlehood? Because contrary what this holiday will leave you to believe, there is nothing wrong with being alone any day of the year if you can enjoy your own company, pay for your own dinner, and have at least one working hand.

Regardless of your love situation, many people freely admit they fucking hate V-day. Here are five who hate it more than you do.

V is for:
If you plan on losing it in the second most cliché way of all time (the first, of course, being prom night), make sure your Valentine can at least spring for a Howard Johnsons. Elizabeth got her cherry popped (when she should have been popping chocolate covered cherries) at a $35 a night motel that required reservations because of it’s proximity to a local maximum security prison. Apparently this place was pretty popular amongst the inmates, and due to the graphic nature of what was seen, that content has been edited out for her safety. I can say that the cleaning service was not at all surprised to find blood on their sheets.

V is for:
Sarah had been dating her 2,000-mile-away boyfriend Jeff for two years and everyone was skeptical that he was seeing other people—everyone besides Sarah that is. It wasn’t until “something came up” with work and he had to cancel his trip to come see her for the lovers’ holiday that she started to wonder. She didn’t have to question it for too long because when her two dozen red roses were delivered the card attached read, “Mandy, the past six months with you have been the best times of my life, I can’t wait to spend our first Valentine’s Day together tonight! Love, Jeff.” Sorry Sarah, those flowers could come in handy for a little game of he loves me, he loves me NOT. As far as Jeff is concerned, I wonder if 1-800-flowers does refunds when they make these kind of “mistakes.”

V is for:
Violently Ill
Yes, it’s true, one of the reasons men love women and put up with their emotions, gossip, and neediness is because we feed them. Brian was excited when his long time girlfriend (who had never as much as made him a sandwich) surprised him by getting herself cooking lessons for Valentine’s Day and cooking him a feast meant for a king while he had planned on surprising her by proposing. Unfortunately, his lady was too busy texting him during class and missed the segment about the proper handling of poultry and the dangers of salmonella. Brian decided he couldn’t marry someone who could potentially kill him or their unborn children, so as soon as they had both recovered, the engagement was called off.

V is for:
Venereal Disease
Finding out you have one would majorly suck regardless of the day, but feels even more painful (and itchy) when everyone else you know is at five-star restaurants drinking the finest champagne toasting to the STD-free sex they will be having once the bubbly starts to kick in. Karen received a phone call from her ex on February 14, 2005 as she was getting ready to celebrate with her current beau. He called to share the news of what he had already shared with her a few months back: genital warts. Props to this douche for his timing, though maybe next time he should spread the word (instead of his wart-filled legs) with a card covered in hearts with this brilliant,uber-romantic poem I just wrote: Your chocolates will get eaten, your flowers will surely die; But the genital warts I gave you will only multiply! Cheers to the gift that will keep on giving!

V is for:
A scheduled Valentine’s reunion was planned and preempted by some provocative photos to get the female half of this equation excited for the visit. If it’s true what they say that a picture is worth a thousand words, then the words must have been “I fucking hate Valentine’s day” when she (okay, I) noticed the wedding ring on the hand that held his two-timing penis. The consolation prize was pretending to have believed the series of lies he spun to try and get himself out of it and letting him proceed with his travel arrangements only to be left at the airport alone on Valentine’s Day while his wife was at home wondering where her husband was, and I was sitting at a bar somewhere drinking my face off.

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