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Alright, folks, let's talk about Valentine's Day, or as I like to call it, the day Hallmark gets a bonus and single people pretend they're not bitter. So, I had this incredibly short-lived Valentine's Day experience. I mean, it was so short; even my microwave popcorn has a longer lifespan. I decided to get a little creative and send myself flowers at work. You know, just to mess with my co-workers' heads. So, the delivery guy walks in with this bouquet, and everyone's eyes light up, thinking, "Ooh, who's the lucky girl?" And I'm just standing there like, "Surprise! It's me! Self-love, people!"
But here's the kicker: I accidentally wrote the wrong name on the card. So, now my co-workers think there's some mystery admirer who can't even get my name right. I basically pranked myself. Happy Valentine's Day to me, the king of awkward situations.
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Valentine's Day is like a pressure cooker for relationships. I mean, if you've been dating for a while, you're expected to come up with this grand romantic gesture. So, I'm staring at the shelves of the store, contemplating the perfect gift, and all I can think is, "How much does a kidney cost on the black market?" And then there's the card section. Have you ever tried finding a card that doesn't sound like it was written by Shakespeare's ghost? I'm there reading cards like, "I love you more than pizza," and thinking, "Is that even possible?" I mean, pizza has never canceled plans on me.
So, long story short, I ended up getting my significant other a card that said, "Roses are red, violets are blue, I suck at poetry, let's order Chinese food." Romance level: Expert.
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Valentine's Day dinner is like a culinary minefield. My partner and I decided to go to this fancy restaurant with a prix fixe menu. Now, I don't speak French, but I know "prix fixe" roughly translates to "surprise, you're broke." We sit down, and the waiter hands us the menu, which is basically a list of ingredients I can't pronounce. I'm looking at the menu like I'm about to take the SATs in a foreign language. The waiter starts explaining the dishes, and I'm nodding along like, "Yes, yes, I totally know what you're talking about."
Finally, the food arrives, and I'm trying to figure out if I'm eating an appetizer or the centerpiece from a modern art exhibit. I'm just grateful they didn't serve dessert in a miniature sculpture made of spun sugar. I'd probably eat it and then get billed for destroying a masterpiece.
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Can we talk about Valentine's Day movies for a second? They set these unrealistic expectations for love. I mean, in romantic movies, the guy always knows exactly what the girl wants, and they live happily ever after. In real life, my partner and I can't even agree on what movie to watch, let alone read each other's minds. And what's with those grand romantic gestures in movies? In "The Notebook," the guy builds a house for the girl. If I tried that, the best I could manage is a slightly crooked IKEA bookshelf. "Here, honey, it symbolizes our love – a bit wobbly but functional."
So, this Valentine's Day, instead of watching romantic movies, my partner and I decided to watch horror films. Because nothing says "I love you" like bonding over the fear of a zombie apocalypse. Romance, my friends, comes in many forms.
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