Your Valentine’s Day supervision is basically a date

All the glory of a committed relationship in one hour of supo time

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In 2016, we learned that love is dead.

Roy and Silo, the gay penguins at New York City Zoo, split up. Some other penguin cheated on her husband, leading to a bloody fight that “shocked the internet”. And in human news, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie parted ways, breaking the hearts and pockets of everyone who invested in their (now cancelled) breakfast business venture: All- Brangelina.

A loss to fibre fans everywhere

In 2017, my love-life is equally void, except for the one guy who messaged me on Tinder asking if he could come to my college library because he couldn’t find a book he needed for his weekly essay in the Law fac. (The answer is always yes, baby.)

And now, not only do we have Crushbridge to remind us of our own CRUSHing insecurities that nobody will ever love us, ever, but also it’s Valentine’s day.

Valentine’s day is probably (definitely) the worst day of the year, regardless of whether or not you have someone in your life. If you’re just having a casual ting, you’ll have to pretend you Don’t Want to Celebrate Valentine’s Day Ever, Because it’s An Inherently Capitalistic Construct Which Seeks to Profit out of Human Affection and Also has a Deeply Misogynistic History (to be recited whilst crying).

If you’re single, the couple’s Domino’s deal wasn’t even made for you. You’ll probably order it anyway, and the delivery guy will laugh at you when you pick it up alone.

And if in a relationship, one of you will inevitably put more effort into the day than the other; when out to dinner at Bella Italia (or similar) that night, you will look into each other’s eyes and realize that all relationships end in either heartbreak or death, and suddenly wham bam thank you ma’am, there’s a sell- by date on your boyfriend.

Trust me, I got a B in GCSE science. You can’t argue with the facts. I am not wrong.

PICTURED: Wrong on every level

So this is why, if you happen to be someone lucky enough to have a supervision on the big day, I don’t want to hear any complaining from you. Please, just stop being so self- entitled.

Let’s set the scene.

It starts with picking the outfit. Something you do both for a date and for a supervision. You might not think you pick an outfit for a supervision, but trust me, you do.

In both cases, you decide to go for something that says “I am a well put- together human being who definitely did not write an essay at 2am last night, and really can’t actually be bothered to engage in a conversation with you, my date/ supervisor. I also am not ever plagued by self- hatred and bitterness at my own inadequacies.”

In both cases, I would therefore advise against tweed.

Your supervisor, like your date, is definitely judging you based on your appearance. You might have been told before your interview that, “they don’t care what you look like, it’s all about what’s in your mind”, but like everything you were told before your interview, this is a lie. It is a known fact that your supervisor is 153.6% more likely to attack you if you look ill or tired. They love it when you’re weak.

Unlike the uncertainty of a second date however, you will definitely have a second supervision. In fact, your supervisions will turn into a monotonous, meandering and seemingly endless routine. A bit like sex.

So romantic<3

You walk into your supervision/date. You’re greeted at the door. You’re late. Your supervisor/date definitely hates you now. Nevertheless, they ask you how you are.

How are you?

You’re tired. You’re ill. Possibly hungover.

You say you’re fine. You’ve started your supervision-date based on a lie. It can only go downhill from here.

Your supervisor- date enthusiastically starts a conversation with you about wealth and poverty in 15th century Luxembourg. You have no idea what they’re talking about, but of course you can’t be one- upped by your supervisor- date, so you nod along and pretend like you do. You’re thinking about what you’ll eat later; maybe some potatoes with a side of bread. You zone back in. Belatedly, you realize your supervisor- date has asked you a question and expects a response. You panic.

“In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue”, you contribute.

You don’t add that Columbus proceeded to murderously invade the homes of the Native Americans. After all, your supervisor-date might be a fascist (you don’t know because you only matched on Bumble yesterday), and you don’t want to offend anyone. You smile wanly. Please, God, don’t let your supervisor- date mention politics. 

Your supervisor- date begins a conversation about how awful you are. This is ground you can understand and follow, but you still think it’s quite uncalled for as supervision- date conversation material. They seem disappointed in and upset by you.

You don’t know how to save the situation. You decide to break into song to create a better ambiance. 3 minutes of Hannah Montana’s “Nobody’s Perfect” ensues.

This was definitely the wrong way to break the ice. The supervision- date is over, and you’ve fucked it up.

You leave before the food arrives.

You go back to college. You go to the buttery. You have some potatoes with a side of bread. You eat alone.

And at last, you are content.