Suckers come in all shapes and sizes.
And there is no restriction on what you can be a sucker for.
Me? I am a sucker for Valentine’s Day.
Its stupid, I know.
I have had more than one unwashed hippie spew the “It’s all a corporate sham, man.”
You lost me at “Man”.
And if I hear it one more time, I will donate money to the Japanese Whaling fleet.
NOW, they are quiet.
But there is something nice about the idea that, as much of an un-affectionate bastard as you can be for the majority of the year, there is one day that you are required/guilt-ed into/pressured to be nice, with flowers, candies and an optional stuffed bear.
And if you are thinking about that online “Make you own special theme bear” do so with the understanding that you will be throwing down a couple of Franklins for that shit.
Makes me sound like a gangster rapper, don’t it?
Raised on those mean streets of Manhattan Beach, California.
Not my fault, dog.
My daddy left us.
Every morning, to go to work.
But he came home every night.
A man’s man, big John Wayne fan.
And as “Marlboro man” as he could be?
He has done some nice Valentine’s Days for my mom over the years.
Maybe that is why I like it.
You follow the examples your folks set for you during those formative years.
And yet, in recent years, I pooched the who Valentine’s Day thing.
I woke up on a Valentine’s Day that fell on a Sunday, looked across the pillow at the girlfriend, and fucked it all up.
“What day is Valentine’s Day this week?”
But she didn’t say that.
Which doesn’t tell me anything, really.
She waited until I was in the middle of my morning BM, defenseless on the toilet.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dumbass.”
And she handed me a card with a little bear.
The day could have gone bad from that, save for a few lucky breaks and breakfast on a sunny patio in Santa Monica.
But I pooched it that day.
Still have the bear though.
She still brings it up to this day.
And here is a tip for the guys, from someone who knows.
When she says, “It’s no big deal.”
Trust me, ITS A BIG DEAL.
Ignore this advice at your own peril.
But keep in mind that women can be vindictive.
I don’t want to go into the details of Lorena Bobbit, or he heinous crimes.
I bet john looks back and wonders if he could have flown under the radar on that fateful day with just the purchase of a dozen roses.
And a stuffed bear.
(FOOTNOTE: I hate Gangster Rap. Except Eminem. His stuff rhymes. Plus he looks like a cousin of mine. Holler.)
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