Valentines Day - The Day Women Won

Ok I’ll say it. Every girl expects every (straight) guy to say it. So I’m going to fucking say it…Valentines Day blows ass. It is a crappy ‘holiday’…actually…it isn’t a holiday so I’m not going to call it as such. Valentines Day isn’t even based on any historical event; no one ACTUALLY knows what its roots are…that is, no one except for me. There are theories that St. Valentine was martyred for not giving up his Christian religion and died on Feb. 14, thus a celebration of his death. There are also stories of this, so called, Valentine person falling for a jailers daughter and would write her letters and sign them “From your Valentine.” All those are nothing more than legends and hogwash (note: I tried really hard to use that word and not come back and bring it up, but it’s too funny a word to not point out). The way Valentines Day really came to be was on a fateful evening in February back in the 2nd century.

There was this guy, we’ll call him Ted Valentine, courting a young lass, we’ll call her Bitchotress Valentine (or B for short), for whom he was particularly fond. Ted spent hours trying to gain B’s love and when he finally did, they consummated their love…regularly. Ted was happy as a clam; meanwhile, B seemed like she was happy while they were together. What more could this happy couple need? They regularly spent time together. They had plenty of sex…umm…rather…they made love often (or at least that’s what Ted told B that’s what they were doing…with a straight face too!!). They rarely fought and when they did, it was only minor. Then IT happened, the worst thing to happen to MANkind. On February, 14th 2nd century, as Ted was prepping his partner for another rampant sex sess…night sharing each others love, B decided she didn’t want anything to do with it.

No booty for Ted that night. Ted was sad. Ted wanted to know what the deal was. B filled him on her ‘dilemma.’ She sat him down and explained to him, “Ted you know how I feel about you, and I think I know how you feel about me. Spending every night with you is fantastic, I couldn’t be happier. Actually, that’s a lie*, I could be happier.” Ted interjects with, “ohh my dear what could it be? I tend to your needs just about every day of the year. I take you out to eat. I even buy you gifts and pick flowers for you every now and then.” Bithotress feels it is now her time to say something, “See that’s just it, you are great to be with but you never do ALL that stuff in the same day. You should be willing to take me out to a restaurant that’s $50** a plate then go out on the town for a while, where we can view a $40 show at the theater. You should wake me up with a gift of jewelry, and by jewelry, I mean Tiffany’s. Not any of crappy Kay Jewelers shit. I should be showered with flowers all day; roses are only $60 for a dozen. I should be given candy till I can no longer eat that $50 plate we are GOING to have. When all that happens, I will make love to you again.”

*please note: That line was not ever said…that line I had to add in on my own. Women never admit when they lie. Everything else is totally what she said!
**Despite what you might be thinking…American Dollars did exist in the 2nd century…that’s how awesome America is…

Although, he did not know it at the time, the fate of men everywhere rested in Ted’s hands, this night. He could have just walked away from such a demand. He could have written history in favor of men everywhere. The world was in Ted Valentine’s hands at this very moment. What did he do? He fucking blew it. He got on the horn and started making reservations and ordering expensive gifts. The next day B, told all of her friends. From that moment on February 14th would, forever, be known as the day that all female companions would expect lavish gifts and extraordinary treatment, or else no sex. For a long time. With lots of arguments. No cooking either. Or fun.

So as I’m sure you can see…there is no reason to call this day a holiday. It’s a tragedy. This day only signifies the day the women beat us men. So to all you not so single guys out there, I sincerely hope you have a little blue box with white string, a dozen red roses, 15 pounds of chocolate (ohh but I can’t, chocolate goes straight to my hips) and reservations at Flemings, because otherwise, you are in for a VERY painful reminder of February.