On Tuesday, Satan and I had to go to the bank. So, off we went. Walking down the street talking about how me saying that I don’t love Justin Bieber doesn’t make me racist and how it doesn’t matter that we didn’t get any Valentines because we love each more and other random ramblings of a 9 year old who just loves the sound of her own voice; then we come across a man, lying half in the road, semi-conscious and bleeding from his head. A young woman was with him, on the phone to 999, clearly upset and unsure what to do. Of course, I stopped and offered to help, got the man into the recovery position and tried to calm the lady down whilst fielding 40 bajillion questions from Satan, until some traffic warden type guys and an ambulance car showed up to help him out. Fun fun. I hope he’s ok. I suspect he had a pretty decent head injury.
And as the title says, this is only the 3rd worst Valentine’s Day I ever had.
It will come as no great shock to anyone who knows me even a little bit that I don’t ‘do’ Valentine’s Day. My usual reasons are the stereotypical ‘it’s consumerist bullshit’ and ‘I don’t need any guy I’m with being nice to me just because the calender says he should’. And I do think those things. I do think that retailers are money making bastards, selling ‘romance’ to make a few quid. And I do think that if you need to told to be romantic/nice/generous to your partner, then really Valentine’s Day isn’t going to help you long term.
But there is another reason. I have SHIT history with this day. Like, the worst. So, to make all you singles out there who are feeling lonely and unloved feel better (because however much your Valentine’s Day sucks, mine will have sucked harder) and all you couples cherish the nice people you are with (because however much of a douche your significant other is, my past ones have been more douchey), I’ll tell you all about it…
Valentines Day 1993 (i think). I was 12, and had my first ever boyfriend. We’d been going out for a month or so and I was over it, in the way 12 year old girls are. I just didn’t like him any more. So, I finished with him a week or so before Valentine’s Day. and of course he then bought a GIANT card and a plastic rose and gave them to me in front of everyone and asked me back out. So, of course I said yes. Because I’m not a) brave or b) mean enough to reject the kid in front of an audience. No, I could do better than that. Later that same day, I was going off on a Skiing trip for 9 days, so what I did was tell SOMEONE ELSE to tell him. After I’d gone (Yeah, OK, I’m the douche in at least some of these stories….). And then he 9 days to get over it when he couldn’t contact me in any way. Fucking genius, right?
Well, no. Because they told him BEFORE I left, and he didn’t take it well and I went on my holiday feeling like the world’s biggest arsehole. Yay.
Fast forward to 1998. Ah, this is a good one…I was with what I would probably consider my first ‘proper’ boyfriend, who I thought was the best thing in the history of ever. Why, I’m not sure, he treated me like crap, notably once leaving me outside my college, 10 miles from home with no way of getting home for 4 HOURS. And then turned up shit-faced.
So, I don’t really know why I was surprised when on Valentine’s Day after I’d cooked for him he just didn’t show. For hours. When he eventually turned up, drunk and stoned, I ended up throwing a pot of chili at him out of a window and telling him to fuck off. At least until the next day when I forgave him. Because clearly being taken the piss out of was fun for me back then.
And then there was 2000.I had re-connected with a boy i’d seen off and on for years (we had our first kiss outside sainsbury’s after winning shitty teddies in the arcade in Mumbles…the height of romanche when you’re 15…) but he was in the Army so he was away over Valentine’s Day. I woke up on the day in my student house, waited for the mail excitedly and got….nothing. I was
fucking pissed off a little upset and stalked about the house sulking and calling him a motherfucker spent the day a bit upset. That evening, sick of looking at my housemate and her boyfriend sucking each others faces, I went to the pub. And of course I got hideously drunk. This was pre-mobile phones, but he did own a pager. So, of course I did the 90’s equivalent of drunk texting and sent a rather irate, sweary rant to his pager. Went home. Fell asleep on my face still fully clothed. I was woken the next day by my housemate.
‘Em, er, you have a letter’
Because of course he HAD sent me a card. But it via airmail and it got delayed. And it was really sweet. And funnily enough he didn’t talk to me again for years….(sorry, if you see this!)
So, yeah. That’s my fantastic Valentine’s Day Past. I told my children’s dad the whole time we were together that I didn’t want to know. He thought I was insane. but then i told him those stories and we never mentioned it again. I feel like that made our relationship last as long as it did.
So, do i win the award for Shittest Valentine Ever? Let me know your stories!