My life as Trick
He loves me, he eats my heart. . .
I wish that we could go back to the old days of competing
with your friends and co-workers over how many Valetines,
balloons, and flowers we all received.
Those were the good old days. The days when everyone was
looking around the office at the delivery person walking
around with a big bouquet and a bundle of flowers,
wondering if it was for them and no, it's not - They're for
the big-breasted girl in billing who's blown half the
Or the guy that has the 8-pack abs that doesn't seem
interested in anything other than the mirror that he has
hanging in his cubicle.
But now... now it's so different.
I miss the blatant commercialization of it all.
Now it's all romantic dinners and quiet evenings at home
with your loved one, deciding on whether to put the kids to
bed or not before breaking out the bearskin rug.
Who the Hell am I fooling?
I mean, I had to call the damn florist three times
yesterday to make sure that they delivered the flowers I
ordered for myself in time for my friends to be suitably
jealous. And they couldn't even get the card right. How
difficult is "Dear Trick, you are the best lover I've ever
had in not only this life, but all my previous ones as
And the candy? Hardly suitable. Oh, I ate it, but I left
specific instructions that they needed to have it to me
before my co-workers had a chance to take their Metabolife
so that they would crave MY candy.
I mean, it's like some people just don't understand the
spirit and sentiment behind the holiday.
Well, at least the banks were open.
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