I won't.
I think the whole thing is *******s to be fair and luckily my Mrs, being a functioning adult, tends to concur.
Mrs WES will not get a card or flowers.
Mrs WES will get a best end of lamb with roasting juices, sautéed potatoes, asparagus, Laurent Perrier rose champagne, Charbonnet and Walker truffles and my massive cock.
Lucky Mrs WES.
I won't.
I think the whole thing is *******s to be fair and luckily my Mrs, being a functioning adult, tends to concur.
My missus will get peace and quiet as I am out at a meeting
I don’t need it to be February 14th to desperately plead for a shag, the demands of the media and modern society do not dictate to me.
I recall the excitement of this day when a young teenager, to rush home from school in a state of nervous anticipation to be met with no cards in the post, none. To then move on and when asked by mates to of course answer in the region of 5, perhaps 6 if you wanted to include the tarty girl from the big estate who would always allow you to put your hand inside her jumper.
Now I am nearly 50. I shall watch Champions League football perhaps and at this point I have no idea what my dinner will be. Whatever it is I can ensure you it will be based on minimum effort.
"Now some guys they just give up livin'
And start dyin' little by little
Piece by piece
Some guys come home from work and wash up
And go racin' in the street"
Of course it should be remembered that our protagonist, unable to find what he seeks on the strip, eventually "rides to the sea" to "wash these sins from our hands", a clear metaphor for suicide.
So perhaps ceasing to care about anything, becoming a cold, dessicated husk of what was once human, and choosing to schlubb in front of the TV has its merits after all.