We’ve only just shaken off the
post-Christmas/New Year blues and it’s suddenly time to celebrate the worst non-holiday
that insists on projectile vomming all over our annual calendar like anyone who
caught that horrendous bout of gastro that swept through Joburg last month.
Valentine’s Day, like the ‘Super Group’ McBusted, shouldn’t really be
a thing – but it is. And we can simply accept that this is the type of world we
live in or we can snatch it from the grip of filthy corporations. Say “poo” to
icky love songs, chocolates with gross red goo in them, and anything that
includes a stuffed animal and hearts, and celebrate VD like a cunt.
Wear
granny panties
Look here, Victoria Secret, La Senza and
all your pals. I don’t need to be trussed up like a baby hooker to get down. I
have a vagina and that makes me sexy as all hell. And my vagina is a lot cheaper
than that stretch of lace that’s gonna creep into my crack every five seconds.
In fact the Notorious V.A.G is free. (Well, actually if we’re going to take a
squizz at the actual cost of periods and pap smears etc then we’ll see that the
ol’ penis fly trap is a tad pricey, but let’s not do that today.) So, I’m gonna
wear the knicks that sag at the bottom and still get laid.
I’m not too sure what the man equivalent of
granny panties is – perhaps those gross satin (it was never silk, babes) boxers
with the Tasmanian Devil on them? Well, whatever it is let’s slip those bad
boys off and get it on.
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Eat
Ribs
Ribs are fucking delicious so begin and end your evening with a bone (wink, wink). Clutch them in your grubby paws and gnaw your way through all that meaty goodness. Get sauce on your face; get it in your hair. Smile at your loved one with gristle between your teeth and then pick it out at the table. Vegetarians should try some sort of sloppy spaghetti and hope it dribbles down your chin. Slurp that slippery pasta so fast that it flicks up to leave a dab of juice on the nose. Because do you know what’s sexier than going to some over-priced restaurant and eating something fancy like you’re someone fancy? Being you. So make like Rose in that scene in Titanic when she shows poor people that rich, posh girls are far more hardcore than working-class men and get cheap and dirty. (Whatever you say, James Cameron…)
Stay
Home
Just like Mother’s Day, on February 14th
every one of the restaurants you like is booked up. Except your mama brought
you into this world so she actually deserves to be taken out for sups on
Sunday, 10 May 2015 (put it in your calendars this second). Don’t settle for
over-booked mediocrity! Because romance is definitely not your elbow brushing against
that of the desperate couple at the table next to you, all squeezed in like
battery hens. Live an organic love-life and sit on your couch at home. Sooooo
much space to stretch out – aaaaah, yeah.
Buy
Nothing
I’m no love Grinch, but being an educated
lady-person who experiences an encyclopaedic array of complex thoughts and
emotions, I can assure you that my language of love is not fairly represented
by shit cards and wilting flowers. Also I’m a grown-ass woman so my teddy bear
quota was filled when Mama Sluis convinced my father to buy me George Monkey
when I was a wee bairn. So, howabout we boycott Woolies and just say those
three stupid words instead? Actually do you know what does say “I love you” best? Waiting until the 15th and
buying all the choccies at 50% off. Swoon.
So let’s celebrate love with our
middle-fingers thrust forward and our legs unshaved. Romance is real yo, and it
doesn’t get more real than that.
