Too many occasions have I sat on my front doorstep, gazing forlornly at the mailbox, and sighing pitifuly to myself. I was an object of ridicule for much of my school life, you see, and thusly I grew to loathe the day where all the pretty, popular girls would get tokens of affection while I lurked in the shadows, faceless and bland.
Several years in a row, as soon as I got a new diary for the year I'd take a sharp bladed instrument and cut out Febuary 14. Pretend it wasn't there - that the days went 13th, 15th. So, yeah, colour me bitter.
Even the one year that Tuck lead a small party of cohorts to my house to give me a series of twigs and leaves as presents.
Don't misunderstand, there are several people out there (even some of you reading this) who have done their very best to ensure I had a very nice day. And the surprises were often quite touching.
I still hate it, though. I still hate the fact that a lovely idea has been turned into a commertial hell. Despite that, if I don't get anything from a certain person, I'll get pissed off. Isn't that stupid?
Anyway, if I don't see you all before tomorrow, know that my heart goes out to you all. Not because it's Febuary 14th, but because you all deserve it.