Yesterday I went out to get some Boost. I had been in a funk lately and hadn’t timed my last order right. It was going to be almost another week before my usual two cases were delivered.
I wish I had stayed at home. The store was crowded with men, acting like ants who had found a dead bird to devour as they were combing over the vast array of Valentine shit.
I wondered how many of those men with the big red, candy-filled, satin heart-shaped boxes in their carts, along with the gratuitous, bullshit cards expressing endless love and the bunch of roses…were hiding that they have been unfaithful. I wondered if any of them had given their unsuspecting wives an incurable STD.
I saw one man carefully choosing the little card that always comes with flowers.
I was so incredibly sad, I felt like I could hardly breathe.
I was taken back to when I found the little envelope with the name “Doolittle” written on the front. Doolittle had been marked through and the name “H***” had been written underneath. I opened the envelope and saw a nice little card that said “Happy Valentines’ Day!” (in Losers’ handwriting.)
On the back of that card was written “H***, what can I say that hasn’t already been said” and it was signed, “Doo.”
I was reading this right in front of Loser. I had already found out that he had been unfaithful and I knew it was with HER.
When I asked him what her message meant, he lamely said “I don’t know…I probably yelled at her at work or something.” I said “if you bought me flowers every time you yelled at me, you wouldn’t be able to pay the mortgage….and you never bought ME flowers for Valentines’ Day.”
He said “let me have that.” I said “no. I’m going to hang on to it for a while.”
I kept that card in my wallet for ten years. When I sent his goodbye letter, I taped it to the bottom of the letter, crossed out “Doo” and put my initial.
After that, I couldn’t celebrate Valentines’ Day for more than six years. The year I finally thought I had healed enough….another bomb was dropped on me.
Loser had started calling me regularly because he was excited about our new “friends with benefits” relationship (which meant nothing more than he was going to start treating me like his whore, while he kept his WTC.)
He called me on Valentines’ Day with his usual mundane chatter.
I finally said “happy Valentines’ Day” and he could have won an Oscar for his pitiful, lamentation “oh, babe. I didn’t do anything this year….on either end. It was just too weird. I think I’m just going to go home and drink my dinner.”
I must admit, I felt a little sorry for him….until “somebody” sent me the pictures of him and his WTC with their arms wrapped around each other at a “Sweethearts’ Valentines’ Day” party at an airplane hangar.
He had bought the tickets a few weeks earlier and knew exactly what he had planned when he was lying to me.
This is why I HATE Valentines’ Day.