Valentine’s Day Massacre

Well. If this evening had gone to plan then instead of starting a blog post I should have just got out of the shower after a run. The wind and pounding rain had other ideas. I have run through a bit of rain before without any issue, but I was soaked through just walking the 30 seconds to the postbox. A 28 minute run seemed like a step too far. I hear it helps if you can actually see where you’re going.

So what else to do… sit in front of the telly with a hot cuppa and write a Valentine’s themed blog entry? Alright then.

Nobody likes all that cheesy gushing about love, especially when they’re single, so this one’s inspired by a ‘share your embarrassing Valentine’s memories’ article I saw today. My answer was getting way too long for a comments section but nobody ever said my blog had to stick to a character limit. As is becoming customary I shall abuse gifs in order to illustrate.

These days I am single and really not bothered about Valentine’s Day. Once upon a time, more time ago than I care to admit, I was bothered. Let’s just say that Take That were in the charts… the first time. Everyone cared because we were young and in school and apparently this was what everyone cared about. Life lesson: turns out this is never a good reason to care.

So on February 14th a couple of giggling girls come up to me and tell me that a young man I shall (with great originality) call X has furtively stashed something in my bag. This immediately raised my suspicions for multiple reasons.

  1. One of these girls was a sly little thing who didn’t like me very much.
  2. They were terrible actresses.
  3. X and I were about as likely to fall for each other as Russell Brand and Peter Hitchens.

That they expected me to believe them is something I consider a massive insult to my intelligence even to this day.

This was very blatantly an attempt to make me go embarrass myself in front of X, who was kind of the school hard man and a bit of a bully. He liked Metallica, wore his hair too long, snuck cider into the youth club, that sort of thing. To tell you what kind of prince he was back then… a friend and I once witnessed him trying to wheedle his girlfriend into something. After she left we asked him what it was; he proudly announced “I’m gonna knob ‘er.” I certainly hope age has matured him.

So I go to my bag to see what he has allegedly left me. It’s a card with a touching piece of verse:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I wanna get under the covers with you


Beautiful, don’t you think? Byron himself would weep with envy.

Needless to say I was unimpressed by this attempt at a prank. If it had been somebody I was friendly with I probably would have laughed and given them an affectionate swat round the head, but coming from this little harpy I knew it was spiteful rubbish.



Since I hadn’t received any real cards that day I was not in the mood. All you heard all day was “did you get any Valentines” and when the answer was no it was painful to have to keep repeating it.


I decided that I was going to show this little harpy that I was way too smart for her. I was going to march up to X and get the proof I needed that he hadn’t written this. My plan was to let her be the one embarrassed in front of him and then dish out a withering cut down… unfortunately X derailed this plan with his response. He grabbed the card, read it aloud (in full hearing of a number of people) and then proceeded to very loudly issue a denial so vituperative that I still blush remembering it.

Why oh why didn’t I factor in the unknown quantity of his potential response? My scheme totally backfired since this kind of embarrassment was exactly what they’d been after when they devised the whole thing.  I can positively hear the ringing of laughter in my ears as I type this. Icing on the cake was that a lot of the onlookers didn’t hear what I said to X first, so plenty of them thought I had believed the card to be genuine. I then had to suffer a lot of comments about how delusional I was to imagine he’d want me. This would have been bad enough if I had liked him, but it was doubly insulting since I considered him one rung below Neanderthal on the desirability ladder. They thought I wasn’t good enough for him? The cheek!


For the record, the loathing was very mutual. I don’t exactly have the particular body part he referred to, what with being a girl and all, but I would equally have preferred to cut off an appendage than get under the covers with him. So, yeah, that whole thing was fairly humiliating!

But since it is Valentine’s Day and I don’t like to be negative or bitter… the cutest thing that ever happened to me on Valentine’s Day was at uni. As a charity thing, you could send your last Rolo to somebody and it would be hand delivered to them. I got 3, including an anonymous one. To this day that is my Valentine’s record lol



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