When Feb. 14 looms over us like the grim specter of Death itself, men react in a rational way: We do everything that we possibly can to find someone to date us as soon as possible. Regardless of whether we like, dislike, or want to kill a person, we’ll go out with her rather than spend Valentine’s Day alone.
Sure, most of us are aware that it’s a corporate holiday designed to sap money from consumer pockets into the pockets of the greeting card, flower, and pornography industries. However, its secondary function is to make a good half of society feel lonely and depressed for not joining in. Guys are hit pretty hard. Here’s how our average Valentine’s Day goes when we’re single …The Morning
I wake up at roughly 8:00 a.m., ready to start the day. I look at the calendar and immediately drop back to sleep. At about 10:00 a.m., I wake up again, this time permanently. I call work and leave a confused message about why I’m not coming in today. Something about lizards. Upon hanging up the phone, I realize that there’s no work today, as it’s a Sunday. Also, I don’t have a job.
Smart guys buy a few flowers and candies, just in case they’re able to pull off the last-minute date. I open up a heart-shaped box full of candies, head back to the phone, and begin calling women I know. I try to make it clear that I’m not looking for a serious date, just someone to spend the holiday with. Maybe minor sexual contact. There aren’t any takers. I keep thinking that if I could stop crying and screaming, “DON’T HANG UP!” my chances might be better. But hey, if I could do that, I could’ve held down that telemarketer job.
Prime Date Time
At around 7:00 p.m., I’m resigned to my fate. I won’t be dating anyone tonight. Big deal! I’ve spent thousands of nights alone. Thousands and thousands of dark nights. Thousands of nights counting the hairs on my knuckles as I bask in the dim glow of another “Friends” rerun. I spend some time on Facebook, de-friending anyone who’s gotten married. My phone is still on. I’m text-messaging some ex-girlfriends in the hopes of a last-minute movie or something. Finally, at 8:30 p.m., I begin my date with Jack Daniels and three ice cubes.
At around 10:00 p.m., I’d be having some form of sex if I had been able to get a date. My next-door neighbors remind me of this by having loud sex that I can hear. I try to drown out the noise but can’t, so I wait it out while eating a bowl of cereal and reading the Wiki for Valentine’s Day. It turns out that it’s got quite a violent history. I make a mental note to bring this up the next time I call the women in my phone who haven’t blocked my number, then I pass out in a pile of fluids.
But to be fair, this is how most of my days turn out.