Dear ladies. You’re adorable and you smell nice and your hair looks great that way. That said, go away. Seriously, I’m about to toss down some wisdom you want no part of. If you remain, I take no responsibility for your opinion of me thereafter (it’ll still be outstanding).
Valentine’s is a frightening time. The pressure from those that profit on it is immense. The strongest of women, independent, free thinking and confident, are reduced to sappy sods mid-February, ready to lash out at any lapse in what commercials tell them is love.
Guys. If you’re lucky enough to have a better half, most of you know the perils of the fake-smile slathered near-gift you tried to hand over. You probably know the “thought over cost” save that your fathers passed on, as theirs passed to them. Here I’m talk to leaving work the Friday before Valentine’s without an earful of gush or, probably, guilt.
Depending on your chosen (or forced) occupation (or how you occupy your time), you may heed none of this. Those of you in IT or repairing radiators don’t really run into the fairer sex often. Others must tread lightly.
For those sharing cubes with hopeful-flower-recipients, here are a few tips.
Pretend it doesn’t exist.
This may seem simple but you’ll be reminded in every meeting, every chat around a microwave and any other encounter. When asked, make it seem as if you’re blind-sided. I don’t care if you have to do it fifteen times through the day. Each time you’ve never even heard of the idea of Valentine’s.
Avoid feminine flocks.
Just this afternoon, I entered the lunch room, grabbed a sandwich and noticed a table nearly filled with some women I know and others I don’t. I sat to the corner by myself and enjoyed (sort of) my meal. Walking into a roundtable interrogation like that is hazardous to your health. (Fox News wishes Guantanamo were as intense.)
Make something up.
Maybe those first two didn’t work and you’re roped into some long-winded discussion with a women who’s filling your brain with all her PG fantasies. Here, you make something up. Tell her you’re taking your girlfriend to Vegas because she loves sadness and blown savings. Tell her you’re proposing, whether you plan to, never will or already have. Tell her you bought her ten grand in diamonds because she hates Africans and loves manipulated markets. It doesn’t matter.
Above all, make your ladyfriend happy.
Do the ladies at work really matter? No (unless of course you work with your girlfriend). Then nothing said here will help you in the least. Mostly, just make your girlfriend glad she’s with you.
If you’re not doing that all year or have to be reminded by terrible commercials and a deluge of Facebook ads for flower delivery, you’re a dick. You deserve all the girly grilling you get and much worse.
