Cupid's Holiday

Because the idea of actually writing a Valentine's Day post on Valentine's Day was simply too depressing for consideration, here is my annual 'I Hate Love' blog, 2 days after the fact.  Oh, and don't get your knickers in a knot - I don't really hate love.  Just everyone in it.
Happy Valentine's Day, assholes!

I've always hated Valentine's Day.  And I mean always.  And before you say it - no.  It has nothing to do with me being almost 21 and totally alone.  I know this because I started labelling Cupid's "holiday" a crock of shit years ago - way before I grew up and died on the inside.

When we were young and cute and too stupid to know better, Mum used to buy my sister and I a heart-shaped cookie bouquet every Valentine's Day.  This was nice.  As a four-year-old I was loud and energetic with a chocolate milk moustache and permanently skinned knees.  It was almost impossible to find a date.

Thankfully, my parents - while crazy enough to consider pink cookies a legitimate cure for a four-year-old with man issues - were also smart enough not to flaunt their own romantic exploits in front of me.  It was a lukewarm holiday in the Trew household.

Mum stopped buying the cookies when I was about 15, by which time I was in high school and throwing "Black, Black Like My Heart" parties every year with my friends.  You could tell my parents were super-psyched to have raised an emotionally dead Red-Bull addict who laughed at dead baby jokes...I just thanked God they sent me to a school where there were at least 17 other people as twisted as me.

Now that I'm out of school and pretending to be a grown up living in the real world, I'm surprised (and comforted) by how many people actually couldn't care less about Valentine's Day - I worked from 9 til 6 on the 14th and not once did I hear anyone talking about girlfriends or cupid or romance or (vomit) love.  Oh, except this one guy who came in to buy a gift voucher:

Me: So...is this a birthday present?

Guy: Well, sort of.  It's also for Valentine's Day.

Me: Fuck you.

Just kidding.  My boss would totally have my ovaries on a platter if she heard me talk to a client like that.  I actually didn't even bother responding; I just punched him in the balls and took my lunch.  Anyway, I've pretty much exhausted this topic, so I think I'll stop before this post gets even more ludicrous.  To sum up: Valentine's Day is good for nothing.  Unless you can use it as an excuse to kick some guy you just met in the balls.  Then it's awesome.