Feb. 14 is just around the corner, and you know what that means. Wherever you look, there will be a disgusting amount of red and pink, while all the girls go “ga ga.” That’s right. Because some buffoon over in Hallmark decided that halfway through this month there should be a holiday, I have no choice but to pretend I enjoy the date.
Or do I have a choice? I’m not pretending anymore!
Ladies, listen up. No guy (ok, I won’t say none, so I’ll go with 95 percent) likes Valentine’s Day. You think the roses, chocolates and romantic dinner for two is because we want to show you extra love on this gloriously ridiculous day? Not quite. Like most times in life, our motivation is our penis.
News flash: to a guy, a better date equals better horizontal mambo later in the night. It’s sad, but it’s the truth and I’m not afraid to admit it. Very few guys will go all out because they really want to. So, the future of our penis is relying heavily on the evening of Feb. 14.
Our penis is our motivation about 95 percent of the time, so that means Feb. 14 will be no different. You can’t blame us though. We’ve been like this for generations and generations. We’re forced to act based on the part of our body where the most blood rushes to. I think it has something to do with the survival of the stiffest. I remember a science teacher said something about that years ago, but I wasn’t paying attention.
What may shock you is that to this point, I do have a girlfriend. We’ve been going out for two and a half years, so this isn’t my first V-Day with her. However, she is going to read this article and I can’t comment on how long we’ll be together “post V-Day bashing.”
So she said that dinner doesn’t have to be expensive or extravagant, but we all know that’s a lie. Where do I want to go on Valentine’s Day? Only to my favorite restaurant, Friendly’s! Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to get away with a meal that requires less than two forks and three courses.
Damn, I really wanted a Cyclone and a Fribble.
OK, I know that, “it’s the thought that counts.” However, I am painfully aware that the only thought that will enter my head will be the thought of self-gratification if this date isn’t up to par. Wow, sex never cost so much.
I’m about as romantic as Michael Jackson dislikes little boys. As we all know, that is not much at all. So why must I be forced to pretend to be romantic because a card company told me so? Because, as I am painfully aware, if I am not romantic on this night, the most action I will be seeing is on Kazaa and there’s only so many times I can watch Janet Jackson’s halftime performance.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind the occasional good deed for my girlfriend (and by good deed, I mean more than the outfit from Victoria’s Secret.) I’ve cooked nice dinners before, we’ve done the whole dinner date thing, but I can’t stand being forced to do anything on Valentine’s Day. To me, it’s just Feb. 14.
OK, maybe I’m not all that romantic. My idea of romance: Sportscenter and a six pack. Her idea of romance: a dinner for two and renting a movie while cuddling. The jury is still out as to who is right.
Maybe I should protest the holiday and wherever we go, I’ll wear my “I am the man from Nantucket” shirt.
Matt Elder is a Collegian columnist.
