OT: Valentine Angst

The Valentine's Day Massacre approacheth like a deck of cards, and red hearts play the part of arrows from an ancient firing squad. Eros looses a volley of misandry into the hordes of dumbfounded men who must surprise, woo, and romance or be shunned for a brief eternity. Women are very demanding when it comes to this faux holiday, and threaten to unleash their scorn upon he who doesn't satisfy, which is frustrating for us guys who know that Valentine's Day is more about profiteering rituals than love-making. Oh sure, it's a day for couples to show their appreciation for one another, but when affection is measured quantitatively, guys begin to sweat. I'm fairly certain there are successful Valentine's Days every year, wrought of spellbinding sunset dinners on the waterfront and teary-eyed "thank you"'s as a box opens to reveal something shiny inside. Most men breathe a sigh of relief before falling asleep that night. I, on the other hand, have resigned myself to failure. A post-Valentine's Day hiatus is unavoidable in my relationship. I don't sigh of relief until it is back to normal, and then I can go back to dreading next year's massacre.

I'm not saying Cupid fires blindly, he just has bad aim, and an arrow in the skull doesn't feel nearly as good as one in the heart. Come to think of it, February turns both into torture. I'd rather play Spades.