How to do Valentine’s Day Right
All I wanted to do today was to go to the supermarket, get some groceries, sit at home, and watch Pretty Little Liars. That’s it.
To be honest, I knew what I was getting into. I knew stepping outside the sanctuary of my house would mean confronting an overdose of hearts and chocolates and perfume and flowers. But a girl needs sustenance.
Like any self-respecting adult looking to eat through this farce of a holiday, I’d donned my sunglasses, put on my running shoes, and stepped outside. But boy, did I have a day ahead of me.
My apartment is right next to this classy and high-end restaurant, and I saw two teenagers, kids really, standing near the footpath, arguing. It was clear they’d just stepped out of the restaurant. The girl looked close to tears, and her dress was covered in mud.
How in the world did they afford this place? I can’t afford it, and I have a job! I hate kids.
Anyways, I, of course, took it upon myself to eavesdrop to figure out what had gone wrong.
“You cheap, heartless, moronic piece of crap! How dare you?”
Damn girl. That was good.
“What are you talking about?”
“I got you a painting. That I made MYSELF. It took me a month! I even got you a $50 gift card to that weird place you love—the one with the dinosaurs. AND YOU HAD THE AUDACITY TO GET ME A STUFFED TOY YOU WON IN AN ARCADE GAME? AND IT’S A GIRAFFE. WHO EVEN LIKES GIRAFFES? YOU CAN’T EVEN PET THEM.”
Oh, my God.
“On top of that, your total lack of regard shoved me in the muddy grass and ruined my dress. Do you know how much it cost me? MY KIDNEY IS BEING MORTGAGED FOR THIS. AND YOU HAD THE GALL TO LAUGH? WHO EVEN DOES THAT, YOU SHOELACE?”
“Hey, it’s called a comic con. And it’s not weird. Have a little respect.”
I knew this generation was going to hell, but now I’d actually witnessed it. I sent a massive ocean of hurt and torture for the kid in the form of a particular finger and moved on from the disaster date. I stepped into a café to get myself a cup of coffee when another teenager stepped on stage with a guitar and a round of applause. Guess it was one of those cafes which hosted live performances.
“Hope everyone’s having a great day. Today, I’ve written a poem for my amazing girlfriend. Love you, babe.”
Nope. I’m out.
I tried handing over cash to the girl at the register, but it turns out she was the aforementioned ‘amazing girlfriend.’ Just my luck. ‘Sara,’ if the tag on her shirt was to be believed, already had cartoon hearts in her eyes and absolutely did not care about me. I could have just taken my cup and left. Maybe I should have. God, I really should have.
Because right then the gentleman on stage opened his mouth. And ruined everything.
“I call this poem – ‘Sara and Erotism.’”
God save this planet.
I watched as the boy professed his highly inappropriate thoughts out loud to a crowd of 50 people, full of office workers, school students, and the elderly. I watched as Sara turned a deeper shade of red after every verse. I didn’t know if it was anger or humiliation. Maybe both.
When Sara emerged from behind the counter with a hot pan in her hand, I decided to head out as well. Why was the grocery store so far?
Finally, FINALLY, I got there. The air conditioning of the supermarket hit my face with the reverence of a god. My mentally exhausted brain clocked the bananas near the cashier, and the second I looked at them, I knew with 100% certainty that I was done with bananas for today.