Oh great – it’s VD all over again
Oh great. It’s Valentine’s Day again. Or ‘VD’ for those of you who like a bit of short hand. Although if you’re the type of person who can’t be bothered to type full words in a text message, you’re probably the type of person who can’t be bothered to reach across to the draw and whip on a jonnie in the midst of a jilting tryst. That kind of laziness, of course, can lead to Venereal Disease. Or VD, for short. And we all know that what comes around (your genitals without protection) goes around (other people’s genitals).
And so, the big day looms large upon us, the day when Saint Valentine tried to help persecuted Christians in Rome but Clintons (and rather more persuasively) Tesco said ‘NO, I’d rather you helped our margins dear’.
It’s a depressing time of year for those of us who haven’t received a card for a very long time. The last time I received one was in Year 10. It was from a girl three years my junior, who used to sit outside my house until the early hours and keep a box full of cuttings of me from the local newspaper (in which my name was a regular fixture on the sports pages, you understand).
With this in mind, I’d like to dish out a little advice to those of you going on dates this Valentine’s Day, and a whole lot more for those of you who aren’t; because being dateless on VD can send you crazy (yet another similarity with syphilis).
If you are on a date at a restaurant you really do need to watch your table manners; and this means picking your drink wisely. None of us actually likes wine, but we drink it because when the cockney waiter feigning a French accent asks us what we want to drink, and we feel we must keep our end up. And do.
It’s the side-drink, the drink that actually will refresh you and that you will enjoy which needs consideration. Here’s my tip. Don’t go fizzy. I had a fat boy Coke on a date once. There had been a long silence which I knew I had to break. I had intended saying how much I liked his hair. I had, in fact, just burped in his face.
“But even having someone gas in your face is preferable to being alone!” I hear you cry (whilst farting the alphabet, probably, you sickos). And I feel your pain. But, whatever you do, don’t turn up to your college bar alone and ask the barmaid for some Pussy. It may well be the newest energy drink on the block (google it – maybe set your search options to moderate though), but its light and delicate flavourings can only ever turn sour on the night that pukes romance. Plus, she might get the wrong end of the stick, and I’m fairly sure you don’t want her ending up on your stick moments later.
Popping to the library is another alternative to be considered. A great place to while away this, the saddest of days. But a word of warning. You won’t be the only one. There will be other lonely souls there too, lurking by the hand dryers in the toilets, asking for book borrowing favours. And before you know it, you’ll be on your knees, playing the pink oboe (or piccolo, depending if he’s blessed or not) while the weekend librarian has a sneaky shit in the cubicle next door. A cheeky solo rub under the desks is probably more the order of the day; and once you’re done all that blood will come flooding back to your brain so you’ll really nail that essay to the wall.
So when you’re sitting at home, alone, watching iplayer, I’d just grin and bear it and wait for it all to be over. I like to think I’ve helped you all feel that little bit better.
Alternatively, you could click over to James Surry’s latest article and learn how to really get the most out of Facebook…