Valentine’s Day – a good time to remember why you should be alone forever

St. Valentine – a day we all look forward to as an excuse to overeat, well mascara tears, make irrational decisions with bartenders and get one nice card from our parents.

These are the days that you look fondly on failed relationships and ask

Where did it all go wrong?

And in this yearly state of confusion and vodka, I find myself grasping towards one memory.

This is the memory of the love of my life.  We were two young, attractive people.  In love.  Holding hands.  Fucking at regular intervals between classes at college. 

We had a nice romantic dinner planned on Valentine’s day in downtown Champaign, Il.  At a restaurant that loosely met the criteria for both romantic and dinner.  He was handsome and had nice biceps.  I was smart and had a big rack.  We were a match made in fraternity heaven. 

The one downside to courting anyone in college is that nearly 80% of your interaction with that person involves alcohol.  Valentine’s Day is no exception.  My boyfriend had his typical 5-6 cocktails at dinner.  We drove back to my apartment for the ‘rest of the evening’ where I’d down a bottle of Boone’s farm and attempt to seduce him while he was handcuffed to my computer desk chair.  My emotionally scarred roommate was only separated from the theatrics by a thin wall.  She should be lucky she did not witness the flailing arms, wonky eyes, and eventually a boyfriend begging to be unhandcuffed because his arms were losing circulation.  

After the boyfriend was unhandcuffed, he consoled himself with more mystery liquid in his 80 oz plastic cup.  It looked like Sprite to me, and I assumed he was thirsty. 

I swear on Jason Segel’s hotness, that I had no idea how much he’d been drinking.  I was too focused on the pomp and circumstance of Valentine’s Day.  But after we both fell asleep, lulled with the belief that we were meant to be together forever … I was awoken by a strange sound.  And I saw a dark figure standing very tall in the corner of my room.  I realized this was my boyfriend.  I shouted at him but he didn’t respond.  And then the sweet sound of rushing urine falling onto 3 week old clothing.  Boyfriend got so hammered he was too blacked out to realize he was peeing in my laundry basket.  On Valentine’s Day. 

What is a girl in love to do?

I shoved my naked boyfriend out of the room and into my bathroom.  Then I took all of my urine soaked clothes and put them in a grocery bag.  And sat in a corner, clutching the bag and waited.  And waited and waited until he woke up (which was approximately at 4pm the next day). 

I shoved the bag into his hands and let him know that HE RUINED VALENTINE’S DAY (editor’s note:  he eventually ruined my soul as well) and he was going to feel very embarrassed in a few minutes dragging urine soaked women’s clothes to a dry cleaner. 

And so as February 14^th rolls around every year and I find myself with even less dating prospects than the year before … I look back to the fond moments of bliss with the one I wanted to marry and realize I’d prefer to have dry clothes.