Love is not a subject on which I can speak with any authority – at least not where ‘happily ever after’ is concerned. I’m a complete washout in the romance department. You wanna hear about love gone wrong, I’ll talk your ear off – but not right now. My choices of paramours reads like the ‘at large and un-apprehended’ list from America’s Most Wanted. Always handsome, and someone else always wants them. And someone else usually gets them too. Not that I’m bitter, mind you – hehehe.
OK, I’m not bitter anymore – but I am a confirmed bachelor who’s set in his ways.
If madness is defined by doing the same thing over and over and over again expecting different results – then I am CURED.
I intend to spend this Valentines Day crawling past the windows doing barely audible breathing and avoiding bars, clubs and other places where lonely hearts might linger in lust for victims.
At the ripe old age of 60, while taking blood-pressure medicine and rubbing a testosterone supplement faithfully on my shoulders every morning to no avail, or suffering the unpleasant blushing-blue-light side effects of Viagra, I have thrown in the towel.
For those of you still either young enough, lucky enough or hopeful enough to still be in love, I salute you. And I wish you the very happiest of Valentine’s Days. I, on the other hand will be hiding under a pile of collapsed boards in my basement until the whole ordeal is over.
Good luck kids, and use protection.