Top 10 least treat-y “treat yo’self”s…
A horrible ad has been popping up on my Pandora Radio lately, telling me, “This Valentine’s Day, give your man a not-so-subtle hint: Tell him to order flowers from Such-and-Such Place.”
Wow, what a spontaneous and romantic gesture that’ll be for me. Should I go select the exact bouquet I want and just send him a link, or does he at least get THAT much credit? Because OMG, men are SO clueless, amirite, ladies?!
I once had an ex tell me I “hint with a hammer,” because I usually just say what I want, but I’ve never pulled THAT shit.
Jesus Christ, if Valentine’s Day is that important to you, your Person should know to get your fucking flowers.
I like Valentine’s Day. When in a relationship, I personally like to spend it at home with a movie, pizza, and nudity, because I’ve generally felt loved every day in my relationships and don’t feel the need to make it such a Thing. (I am also cheap and lazy.) But still, I like love and celebrations thereof. I like flowers and hearts and pink crap and on-sale candy the next day.
But I hate the implication that all women are whoreticulturists and all men are inept.
…It’s possible I have too many feelings about this.
During holiday seasons I love to torture myself by looking at those bullshit “for her” and “for him” gift recommendation lists.
For instance, BN.com recommends “for him” all this sweet Star Wars and Doctor Who stuff, Rodin “Thinker” bookends, and cool beer/gin kits. And “for her,” a bunch of fucking candles and tote bags and tea sets, and what looks like every pink gift item they sell.
Kiss my dick, Barnes & Noble.
I will admit, I love candles and pink stuff. But I also like beer and gin, dammit, and I do, um, THINK, at least often enough to enjoy “Thinker” bookends. Plus I know tons of ladies who’d enjoy Star Wars/Doctor Who swag. Hmph.
Mad props to LivingSocial, though. Their “for her” gift guide has bourbon tastings, distillery tours, photography lessons, and race car experience packages. (And Brazilian waxes, but eh, it’s still a good list of options. And, um… I’ll just go ahead and add that wax to my cart along with the bourbon tasting. That’s gonna be a weird day.)
I broke up with the last guy I “dated” shortly after Christmas. We broke up over the phone after a few weeks of not seeing each other. But I didn’t realize he’d bought me a gift, even though I’d told him not to. So he’d been texting me intermittently since then trying to arrange a time to give it to me, but the timing never worked out. I tried telling him to keep it, but he kept saying it wasn’t anything big and he wanted me to have it.
I stayed at a friend’s house this weekend, and got a text from the guy this morning asking if I was home. I said I wasn’t, and he said, “I was working in the neighborhood, so I left your Christmas gift outside your door.”
Ahem… “If it’s a severed head, I’m going to be very upset.”
I got home to find a gift bag with two cute little thoughtful things that, yes, were me-specific, and I could see where he just wanted them out of his house.
But then there was the gift card to Victoria’s Secret. Ummm…you probably could’ve kept that, sir. Much appreciated, really, but you do realize that if I use this to buy some lacy little thing, that’ll probably only benefit the NEXT guy, right? The “answering my door in lingerie” promotion is for current customers only.
Because I’m a weirdo, though, I’m using your money to buy a new sports bra. So I will think of you whenever I run and my breasts are neatly contained. (I’m a freak, and whatever I buy, I will always think, “He bought this for me.” So I can’t buy anything racy — it just feels weird.)
To be clear, I do feel like a dick about this whole situation, and I do appreciate him thinking of me. But you have to admit, the gift card was awkward.
We’ve already established that I’m an odd woman. I’m not that into flowers, I don’t wear a lot of jewelry, and I’m picky about candy. (Especially Whitman’s samplers — seriously, how the everloving fuck are those still around?) And we’ve discussed the giant, mutant teddy bear.
Basically, all that shit they try to sell men on Valentine’s Day, I want no part of. I don’t know many women who do.
But this is a Valentine’s gift I can get behind. And one that will get you behind me.
I’m always cold, especially with this clusterfuck of a Northeast winter we’ve been having. I love blankets, I love words, and, theoretically, I’d love you. I’d be wrapped in your love! I’d always have your love to keep me warm! Cheesy? Certainly. But I’d melt faster than low-end chocolate for that shit. Don’t judge me.
Oh. My. Fucking. Hell.
I can’t even.
A hundred dollars. For a bear. Who’s almost as tall as I am.
I am a grown-ass woman with clutter issues and no money. I would literally be more inclined to have sex with you if you presented me with the $100 in cash, rather than in the form of some hulking stuffed animal who probably goes all Ruxpin and plots my death while I sleep. (Whatever, you know Teddy Ruxpin was into some fucked-up shit. Creepy little bastard.)
For the record, I have never once asked a boyfriend if I looked fat. I have eyes, a brain, and a mirror — if I look fat, I can see it for myself.
P.S. I sent this to a friend and she wrote back:
“Is this commercial just code for a sex aid for furries? I was waiting for the part where they talk about ‘yiffing’ and the storage compartment where the dildo goes. But it’s possible I’ve just been on the internet too long.
“Also, if you’re relying on purchasing stuffed animals to help you get laid, you might be a pedophile.”