The Cynic Says

I’ve changed my stance on Valentine’s Day – a long run with a friend and the look of boredom in the eyes of that friend as she received flowers made me a brand new girl.  I asked her if it was the giver, she said it was the day – “one for children and small collared animals,” I feigned horror at her cynicism and black heart.  We pondered, we considered, we repented in our own special way and I’d like to share what melted our cold hearts and allowed unicorns and fairies and rainbows to spring from the depths. 

Today, this special holiday, this day of Will Fuck for Flowers is a great deal more romantic than I ever imagined, than I ever stopped to consider, than I was ever willing to admit.  I now believe it is a day, the one day, when the people of a nation realise their worth, their value and I being a great fan of self-respect and self-esteem applaud them, applaud us all.  Consider this, yesterday everyone, except those girls on the corner of Charles St/Craigslist/the ladies dressed in finery haunting the bar of the St. Regis., were willing to fuck for free; today, many people have raised the bar to $24.99. 

Happy Valentine’s Day lovelies!

Reason #36 (and #37)

Inexplicably, I’m drawn to J. Crew wedding dresses and have in my closet something of a collection, ranging from ivory to the snowiest of whites, frilly to simple and everything between.  I bought another yesterday, now those that don’t know me would possibly say that my current houseguest has broken through my titanium encased black heart and made me think of flowers, rings, tears, vows and yummy cake, but no he has done nothing more than unearthed a magnificent duality, I am sated and quenchless.  My aversion to marriage is still looming as far as I can tell, I don’t imagine you can be gun shy when it comes to relationships and gung ho about marriage, or at least it would make getting from A to B rather difficult.  I suppose if I ever decide to walk barefoot through the grass to say I do my only difficulty will be deciding which dress in my collection stands worthy, a rather difficult choice. The only real solution is multiple weddings or multiple marriages or a fashion show for my cats while my turtle played DJ, strutting to Madonna’s Like a Virgin and Lucky Star, if my mother predicted spinsterhood ever comes to fruition.  As long as I don’t spend decades wearing a wedding dress only to perish from burns suffered in a fire, I’m good. 

On a somewhat related note, I would have locked Estella in a weed covered carriage house, murder is distasteful,  faked her death and forced Pip into being my love slave were I Miss Havisham.  I really wish Dickens had my flair.