She wanted the morning-after pill, which we were
unable to help her with. The whole irony of it all struck home only a short while after.
Yet another foolish act committed on "The Day of Lurve", regretted the next day. Too little too late after being caught up in the tsunami of passion that toyed with one's feelings and tinkered with one's thoughts once a year, rendering decisions made without serious consideration of the outcome and results.
Saturday found the usual suckers taken for a ride with the whole commercial shebang of marked-up prices across the board from flowers to gifts to dinners.
This may sound like sour grapes, but believe me, it's not. I truly believe that you don't need that one day out of three hundred and sixty five to show your love, much less signify anything.
Yes, siree, I've never played into the sentimentality and sappiness of Valentine's Day or the missed-point of SC and presents on Christmas when the initials to remember should be JC. And birthdays are yet another thing that people make too much of a fuss about.
Call me Scrooge, but I know myself better. I don't need to defend myself or prove anything.
The whites of my eyes are still showing for all the eye rolling done over the weekend as I bore witness to the gag-inducing behaviour on the streets...