'VD day' makes me nauseous. Firstly, it has its origins in christian martydom. Secondly, it's now a Hallmark holiday alongside those other religious relics like easter, christmas, marriage, and the preposterous notion of 'christening' an unsuspecting child. Thirdly, it's now a prescribed homogenous night out where everyone sits in restaurants, 2-by-2, exchanging platitudes and reeling from the expense of the jingoistic gift they've bought on the way home from work. A commerical triumph - just another way to keep the proles happily distracted and fuelling the economy.(M&S have all their rosé champagne and wines on special offer, presumably just because they're pink - blush). It's embarassing and usually unromantic. Sitting in a restaurant on the 14th Feb makes me feel so self-consious anyway; it's all such a cringe. Since people watching is the only interesting reason to dine out tonight, much fun can be had by dining out as a threesome, as we did last year. Especially if your 'extra' is up for some crowd teasing...
Finally, if all that wasn't ghastly, religious, and commercial enough, it now transpires that I was most probably actually conceived on this day. I was born on November 25th, just more than a week late. Go figure. My parents aren't shy about this, more's the pity. My friend (Ben) once slept [1] in a garish 70's flammable brown sleeping bag with yellow lining, with my Dad cruelly informing me the next day of it's seamy past.
Go out another night, write a hand written love note, recite a sonnet (not aloud) if you have to, but don't buy anything in red packaging.
[1] Deriving his signature voyeuristic delight from the occasion!
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