I am not one of those men who believe, rightly, that Valentine’s Day is nothing more than a phony holiday created for the sole purpose of selling greeting cards, flowers, and candy. Rather, I am a romantic, in the mold of a better-looking Dennis DeYoung, who once famously sang, “You’re my lady.” I love Valentine’s Day, because it gives me an opportunity to show the ladies my romantic side. One thing I’ve found is, where the ladies are concerned, a little romantic side is greatly appreciated. That’s why I break out a bottle of bubbly romance every February 14th. If you don’t believe me, check this out:
First off, expect me to mention you on a blog.* That is how much you mean to me – enough that I will tell the entire world wide web exactly how much you mean to me. I’m not trying to hide you.
Next, I will drive. There will be no riding the city bus for my lady, when it comes to Valentine’s Day. Deranged, masturbating homeless men shouting obscenities while sitting on soiled seats with gang tags are for the other 364 days of the year. For our romantic evening, nothing less than a subcompact from Hertz will do.
Thirdly, I will pick up the full dinner tab. Forget about going “Dutch treat.” Ruby Tuesday has a two-dinners-for-$20-each deal that includes appetizers and dessert (although I hasten to point out that there is a half-full package of Oreo cookies waiting for us back at my place).
Fourthly, the night is all about you, the special lady I am sharing it with. As far as I’m concerned, there are no other women in the world. And I will refrain from checking out the other strange until you’ve gone to “powder your nose” in the restroom. A lady with me feels special on this special night.
Fifth: A single red rose. A sensual flower for a sensual lady, with petals that are like the flaps of your wondrous mounds, which I expect to have access to later.
Sixth – a little poetry for my lady. Did you catch that simile above, about the rose petals being like your mound flaps? That’s only a small sample of the romantic poetry to which my lady is treated on Valentine’s Day.
Six-and-a-halfth, I hope you’re ready for at least 15 minutes of foreplay, because that’s what you’re getting, my sweet lady. After springing for a full dinner for two and half the car rental (I’ll send you the bill, don’t worry), a lady is generally ready for some sweet romantic action.
Seventh, you come first. I mean that in a sexual way. I can explain it in less obscure terms if you like, but I’m guessing you get my meaning. It’s a double entendre. The part about “coming first.” It refers to the sexual climax. It goes without saying, my lady.
Eighth but not least, 12:01 am is the next day; Valentine’s Day is over. As Dennis DeYoung also once sang, “Babe I’m leaving,” and that’s just what I’ll be doing. Extending the romance into the next day would diminish the specialness of the holiday. Besides that, if I get the car back to Hertz before one am, I think I get a discount.
*This counts as your mention. Enjoy it, my lady.