In the tradition of questionably paired people bitchin' about Venereal Disease, I mean Valentine's Day, here is my contribution to making people who are all alone, so alone feel like they're not missing anything.

So yesterday I was sitting on the toilet, pondering my conundrum, i.e. whether or not to give Cranky the Valentine I had bought him, which is v. romantic and a big secret! which consists of booze and fried food. Then, as I sat there crying on the crapper, and evil spawn-child walked in on me. So I have now scarred a youth for life with my unsightly ass. Way to make my day.

Rule No. 1: Always lock the door, even if there is no apparent lock. Shove a chair up against it if you have to.

Rule No. 2: Always frickin' knock, people. Repeated harrumphing or clearing of your throat to signal occupancy doesn't always work, especially against clueless spawn.

Now a young child will have to live with this horrendous memory forever and will probably turn out gay.

Well, perhaps it's for the best. Maybe he'll actually remember to buy his mother a card once in a while.

Men claim not to remember, or else actively resist the evil Hallmark holiday. How they can "forget" is beyond me, especially when there are big honkin' signs everywhere...maybe they're still in their Super Bowl stupor. They shouldn't put the game so close to the dang pantywad holiday. Isn't it bad enough that the game causes domestic abuse? Or maybe it's the impending bitchfest that provokes it. Yeah, that must be it.

And speaking of big honking signs, there is now a Godzilla-sized display of balloons and flowers in the card shop directly across the street from where Cranky works. I'll bet he is totally oblivious. Ah, to be a man...

What I really want? Is a penis. (Not for my own personal use, mind you...just as hormonal therapy, so I can forget stupid fluffy girl things, like makeup and Valentine's Day.) Maybe just some testicles.

Fittingly, last year, Cranky gave me meat. Meat. Pretty nice considering I'm a lapsed vegetarian.

However, after further review by a panel of non-bitchy women experts, it was been decreed that said meat was a nice, nay, generous gift.

And I'm not such a material girl anyway. I find both fur and diamonds repugnant and unethical. Flowers would be eaten by my cats, and then thrown up - or else we'd be off to the vet's again. Any chocolate left in the vicinity would be immediately consumed by our resident sugar fiend, Mr. Timpson, so that is also out of the question. What's the poor guy to do...? I guess meat was the only traditional gift he had left.

This year, I'll be lucky to get half a cocktail weenie and a kick in the pants for bad behavior. Actually, if asked, I would say hell...I'm between paychecks. A bag of kibble and a sack of kitty litter would more than do, 'cuz I'm all out. Some homemade fried cheese would also be lovely, thank you.

Oh yeah, and a lock for the bathroom door.