As any good calendar will tell you, next Wednesday is Valentine's Day®...
(Oh! It's not registered? Of all the important holidays, I genuinely think Valentine's Day is fit to be commercialized; it's not like it has the negative stigma of a political event or death attached to it.)
O.K., anyways, Valentine's Day is next Wednesday, and I've been busy drafting plans for what promises to be the highlight of my year so far. I'm returning to a tradition that I had skipped the past two years. Why? My doctor, Dr. John C. Ulypp, has advised me that I shouldn't call any escort services this year because my immune system probably could not handle another venereal disease. I believe in Dr. Ulypp's judgement, and so I'm going to be safe this year.
(Incidentally, Dr. Ulypp is up for the OMDA's comeback MD of the Year award. Two years ago, Dr. Ulypp lost six separate malpractice lawsuits relating to unexpected deaths. In his defense, those patients were old; some would have been in their 40s right now if they hadn't died.)
So, testing out Toronto's finest escort services is out; what's back in is a tradition I started in high school. I've already bought my supplies:
-two heart-shaped chocolate boxes
-one 200-page notepad
-one box of 12 waterproof pens
-three bottles of the finest vodka $17.68 can buy!
I plan to devour said boxes of chocolate while downing shot after shot of cheap vodka while writing tear-stained love letters to all the girls - and there are so many - who have broken my fragile, sensitive heart. I won't send the letters out; one year I did and I'm still suffering the repercussions of that mistake.
If you don't have better plans than mine, then you should take my lead. Nothing beats getting drunk and feeling sorry for yourself on an important night like Valentine's, um, Day.