Valentine's Day Is A Greedy Whore.

I hate you Valentine's Day.

I hate you because you are right.

I hate you because you remind me of what a complacent shit I've become.

I hate you because you make me feel guilty.

I hate your $50 Roses and your fat, hollow, glutenous, chocolate face.

I hate your funny, digital, musical cards and your plush little cupid dolls.

All reminders of my inability to give love consistently and unconditionally.

You disgust me with your cheap satin negligee's and your overpriced pajama-grams.

I won't buy them this year.

We own a closet full of unused spa days, gold pendants and orphan teddy bears.

My wife deserves better than you.

She deserves better than me.

Long before you came along, I wrote her love songs and poetry. I sent her letters that chronicled my unrequited love. I remember that courtship from long ago. She fell in love with me and you had nothing to do with it.

You're a cheap substitute.

You're a greedy, fucking whore.

I will bring her flowers on Saturday instead. I will wear black on Sunday to spite you.

We don't need you and your phony trinkets.

Go away.

Do Not Disturb.

This year I'll bring her a kiss on the neck, a careless whisper of sweet nothings in her ear, or maybe even a foot massage.

I remember how to do this. I don't need your God Damn help.

I hate you Valentine's Day!

Fuck you and the winged unicorn you rode in on.

I love my beautiful, precious wife because it's Friday, not because of you.

So go ahead and fall asleep on your over sized, satin, heart-shaped pillow.

I hope you never wake up.