Seven Deadly: Options for Valentines Day
You know the drill: it’s almost Valentine’s day, the day when those who have been successful enough to find someone to reproduce with, give an offering of cash money to the Gods of good sex in the form of expensive meals in overbooked restaurants. The undesirables amongst us wallow in self pity, repeatedly proclaiming that we will ‘never fall in love again‘. :’-(
Here are seven scenarios for how your Valentine’s day might play out.
The emotional equivalent of self harm.
You are alone and unloved, your night is spent weeping at the television whilst watching other people portray what you imagine it must be like to be happy and appreciated whilst simultaneously listening to the one hundred greatest love ballads that you and your ex-partner purchased this time last year for the lulz. When not guzzling cheap bottles of rosé down the hatch you line your stomach with hydrogenated fats, repeatedly demanding that Mr Tiddles, your cat, never leave you. The evening descends into a Facebook stalking marathon.
It’s Valentines eve, everyone paired up is having money physically extracted by stuffed toys, flowers and over-priced dinners, ergo anyone in a nightclub is definitely fair game. You probably don’t even need a game plan, literally everyone will be desperate to hook up with everyone else. It’s the romantic equivalent of Christmas.
The gentleman/loving, but not yet jaded, boyfriend.
CONGRATULATIONS! You are not alone. Ladies, you’re in for a treat. Gentlemen, the pressure is on to not fuck it up. Here is your game plan. Last week you booked a table at a nice restaurant (if you didn’t do that then you better make damn well sure you pull some serious kitchen A-game outta the bag), it doesn’t have to be expensive but it needs to be slightly out of your means. Basically, if you are a KFC man, you take her to Nando’s. If you are a Nando’s man, you take her to Pizza Express. If you’re a Pizza Express man, you take her to Strada. You get my drift, because she’s worth it, right? You start with a single flower. Before the meal you lubricate things with a bottle of wine (again, the bottle has to be slightly outside your means) in a nice bar, one she hasn’t been to before, you’ve heard it’s really good because you put the effort in to do your homework to make this evening special. Obviously, you’re following the gentleman’s decorum at all times and have opened all doors, told her how exceptional she looks and smells, pulled her seat out and walked on the side of the traffic, never at any point considering as much as giving a passing glance at your phone. During dinner you skilfully recommend a delicious bottle of wine that exceptionally compliments the meal, but allow her the final decision. At the end of the meal, whilst she is powdering her nose, you discretely pay the bill. You have sensibly picked a restaurant fairly close to where she lives (or you both live) and enjoy a romantic walk home. If it is raining that is not a problem because you came prepared with an umbrella even though the weatherman said there was absolutely zero chance of rain. She looks a bit chilly so you offer her your jacket, which she politely declines. Back at the château the lady is prepared with another bottle of wine and some easy listening, hands intertwine, magic happens, though you never at any point push it.
The jaded boyfriend/husband.
After telling her that you take her out all the time and make an extensive case for the abolition of Valentine’s day you pick a restaurant that you both go to all the time because it’s reliably alright. However, since you only bothered to book it the night before, your reservation is for the awkward time of 9.45pm. You are about ten minutes late to the tube station you arranged to meet her at citing some bullshit that also includes some nonsense about leaving the ‘MASSIVE BUNCH OF ROSES’ at work/on the bus. Because your table isn’t booked for another 2 hours you suggest a pit stop at the boozer, she’s complaining about being hungry, but no worries because they sell McCoy’s at this pub and you remind her that the beer will fill her up anyway. You woozily leave the pub feeling a bit bloated and go to the restaurant where you continue downing bottles of Stella, whilst intermittently texting your mates and telling your ‘missus’ what they are getting up to, failing to notice that she is not at all interested. After belting down a burger and complaining that your other half hasn’t eaten all her food you get the bill and irately comment on how the prices have gone up. Through the pouring rain you walk to the train station and get on a packed train full of city drunks. After pushing your way off the train and get home, you plonk yourself down on the couch and turn the TV on, skull a couple more Stella’s between you. At about 1am she suggests it might be time for bed and you dutifully take your cue and feel her up the second the lights go out.
The woman’s initiative.
You are a man, your wife/girlfriend/life partner has insisted on her taking you out for Valentine’s day because she has recently got into feminist literature. The evening is all very entertaining and enjoyable at the vegan restaurant she has picked, until the waiter brings the solar powered card reader over and after inserting the card thrusts it in your direction, you awkwardly and shamefully manoeuvre it in the direction of your equal half and are looked upon with scorn by the entire restaurant for making this poor homogametic foot the over-priced bill, which has been printed on recycled paper. Not only has your masculinity been destroyed but she’s repatriating sexual powers tonight, which means that if you want to engage in intercourse then you’d better bend over.
You’ve been macking on so many birds how are you gonna decide which one to do on Valentine’s night? After picking the one with the most massive tits and caking yourself in David Beckham fragrance you take her to what you assume she will think is a ludicrously expensive restaurant and ply her with the cheapest Champagne on the menu, making sure she accidentally sees the bill at the end of the meal. You intermittently talk complete bollocks about how fit she looks and how important you are for various reasons. At the end of the meal you hoik her in the back of a cab and proceed to eat her face. Once at home you drag her straight to the bedroom and do something that looks suspiciously like a rape and fail to call her ever again because you are a massive cunt.
You forgot it was Valentine’s day and in an ironic twist you no longer have a girlfriend so it doesn’t matter anyway (this one only applies to boys).
Honorable mention: Awkward friend sex.
Exactly what it says on the tin.