After spending stupid money on a pre-fixed shitty steak and service dinner many many moons ago, T-Ko and I decided (like everyone else), that V-day was for amateurs. We figured why not share our love over something we both really enjoyed and do it comfortably and casually… So for the last few years, V-Day has been all about Burgers and Beer. It’s been great.
- Before the massage, in the women’s spa area, I noticed something almost instantly: women. Duh. No seriously, women, in pairs. All doing a “girls night/fuck valentine’s day” thing. Good for them I thought… I suppose I’d do the same thing….
- In the steam room, I fell asleep and dreamt I was Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Big was going to have a pair of red Louboutins waiting for me when my massage was over. (Burgers are fine too though).
- My masseuse looked like Chris Farley with a ponytail but he gave me one of the best massages of my life… If you don’t count the explosions I heard for 25 minutes coming from the movie theater above the room. (Needless to say, massage was totally comped. Explode away, suckers!).
- I ate a 1/2 pound burger with grilled onions, mushrooms, and cheese on Valentine’s Day. I felt like Mr. Big.
- We, okay, I decided that we should see “Confessions of a Shopaholic.” The theater was, again, FULL of chicks. It occurred to me though that while I appreciate these women being out on V-Day, the fact that they are out in droves makes their singledom soooo obvious. The “i’m not staying home with my cats and a box of chocolates – hear me roar” attitude is loud and clear. It’s like the valentine’s version of the Scarlett letter. Seriously. On the other hand, you’ve got the men in the audience, who like my husband, are only there because their wives dragged them (and “Kicked them in the nuts,” according to T-KO) and are fulfilling the V-Day stereotype on the opposite end… and I couldn’t help but wonder which cliche was worse… Well, according to T-Ko, our cliche is way worse. Especially since his masseuse looked like Chris Farley’s sister….