Hey Cupid, Any Spare Arrows?

Now I am not going to sit here and decide whether I hate Valentine’s Day or the entire male species more, because, in fact, I hate neither. Yes, I am single, but I’m not going to get as bitter as a lemon because trust me if Zac Efron turned up on my doorstep tomorrow with a bunch of flowers and a share box of chicken nuggets, you would all know about it. In fact, I’d still be posting the pics in July 2024. So, if you’re loved up on February 14th, good for you. Hold on to that man tight because it’s a cruel world out there.

I’m not gonna lie to you fellow single folk either though, I am currently listening to All By Myself for the 4th time tonight and scoffing French Fancies. No doubt I will then blame the weight gain to follow on that guy who ghosted me four months ago. Pr*ck. This isn’t the first time I’m alone for Valentine’s day, last year I was too even though I was being lured into a false sense of security by a guy who liked to chat to me constantly, care for me on Saturday night and then when there was a film I wanted to see he proceeded to rather unsubtly tell me he had gone to the cinema enough that year and wouldn’t be going again. In February. Oh. The year then continued on with situations similar to that one while All By Myself seemed to be the soundtrack of my life, always softly playing in the background while I swiped left on Tinder and ignored the 3am texts asking how I am. Fully clothed in my fluffy Disney pj’s. Now unless you’re planning on jetting me off to Paris in the morning, please go away.

Last year was a messy one in terms of romance. In fact, I was bloody pathetic. I started to blame myself and felt victimised by men I knew were incapable of loving me like I wanted to be loved. I even cried in the car to my mum completely out of the blue on numerous occasions (approximately 31) and text her while full of a dose of the fear the morning after one extremely bad night with the words “Can you please come in? I need a cuddle.” Your daughter is a saddo. Congrats. Realistically, this reckless behaviour only caused me to go up a jean size and I cried about that too.

Somehow I managed to go from a woman who was in charge of her own destiny to a woman who was hunting for her own flaws because men seemed to find them constantly. HOLD UP. Can someone please slap me with the frying pan you’re using to make pancakes because I need a reality check. Things improved slightly as this year arrived, but last weekend I still found myself crying into my pink gin. Again, bloody pathetic.

Thankfully, a few gym sessions (twice… I went twice) and new hair colour later, I am ready for the months following February. There are many things to take on board…

  1. Rely on myself.
  2. Accept my weight gain and buy jeans that actually fit.
  3. Do not text previous ghosts or infamous f**kboys.
  4. Do not tell potentially nice men that “all men are the same” on the first meeting.
  5. Stop shaving my legs every weekend and depriving myself of garlic dip.
  6. The guy who likes all my pics but ignores my texts is not the one.
  7. Pr*ck is a strong word, twat is more carefree.
  8. Stop blaming myself for flaws in others.
  9. Stop blaming others for flaws in myself. i.e Psychotic tendencies.
  10. Gin is not my friend.

We got this. Well, you do. I never take my own advice.

Happy Feb 14th to all the lovebirds. Although, I have to admit, I do hope there is only one tray in your box of chocolates.

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