WARNING: This post contains explicit material.
If you are an in-law – PLEASE, STOP READING. PLEASE. OH HEAVENS PLEASE .
So, hating on Valentine’s Day feels a little played out—and frankly, I don’t get it. I hear the standard, “It’s a made-up holiday,” or “Happy Hallmark Day,” or my favorite, “I love you every day so I don’t need a holiday to show it.”
To me, Valentine’s Day means something completely different. It’s an opportunity to get some sex. Yeah, I’m married, and yeah, I’ve got two kids, so science would reason that I’ve had sex at least twice. And this isn’t to say that we don’t have a healthy amount of sex, but a holiday designed to give me a freebie? Sign me up.
Think about it—a romantic holiday. Romance is synonymous with sex. Ergo, a sex holiday. And to think people have the nerve to bitch about it.
“Woe is me, I have to trade some flowers and chocolate for a BJ.”
“Corporate America is capitalizing on my relationship.”
Uh, what? Granted, it’s not quite as straightforward as Steak and a BJ Day (March 14, coming up!)—but it’s not too far off either.
Now, to be fair—I am being a little hypocritical here. In years past I was Mr. Poo-Poo when it came to the festivities.
Me: You didn’t get me anything for Valentine’s Day, right?
Wife: No. I’d ask the same of you, but I’m sure I don’t need to.
Me: Isn’t it sweet how well we know each other?
Well, this year I flipped it on her. I arranged all the necessary festivities required to get me a blow job romantic evening.
First, I bought a gift (cue the Big Pun “I’m Not a Player” music)—sunglasses to shield her pretty eyes from the shine of my game. Next, I made a chalkboard-sized Valentine card:
Upon receiving her gifts she started to cry.
Me: Baby, it’s just some shades.
Wife: I know. It’s just that you’ve never gotten me anything for Valentine’s Day before. You’re the greatest Valentine ever!
(Obviously, in the 15 years we’ve been together, I’ve set the bar really low.)
But who cares! Check and mate! I totally got some! In your face everyone who didn’t!
If you take anything at all from this post (aside from the fact that I’m a mack-daddy and you’re a buster, and bragging about sex never gets old, even if you’re married), take this: never, nevernevernever look a gift horse in the mouth. I don’t know what a gift horse looks like, but if you ever meet one keep your eyes averted. And if someone makes up a holiday to help you get some sex, quit your bitching. Don’t pay for sex. Pay for overpriced roses and chocolates and trade it for sex.
You’re welcome for the wisdom.
The Big Romanti-cado.