Friday, February 14, 1997:
I know. I know. I know what today is, thank you. I got flowers. From my mother. I got chocolate. From my father. I got a phonecall. From Amy. I got a card. From my sister and her fiancé. Charming. They all want to be my valentine. Yeah, right. Being my valentine means one thing and one thing only. And no one who's related to you should be offering to do that one thing for you. Okay. I'm loved. But not romantically. Familial love and friendship just don't cut it on a day like today. Would having dinner with my parents on Valentine's Day be worse than spending it alone? Tough call. I went down to the basement of my building to find a box of valentines from boyfriend's past and found them half-eaten by maggots. Maggots! The box containing them had fallen to the damp, dirt floor and the little critters had had a feast on those flimsy, two-dimensional representations of what (in every case) turned out to be short-term devotion. If Valentine's Day is for lovers, leave the rest of us out of it, okay? Saturday, February 15, 1997: Sunday, February 16, 1997: Amy called and woke me up this morning. Someone has to. She said that she was out with some people last night who know Heather (Mitchell's new girlfriend, for those of you who have not been paying attention). They told her that Heather isn't funny. They told her that, in fact, that Heather actually thinks she's funny, but she's not. That is the worst combination of things I could possible imagine. I think it's going to be a beautiful day!!! |
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