Aggie Romeril offers some suggestions on how to absolutely ruin the life of your insignificant other.
It is upon us.
That dreaded twenty four hours of smug couples, 2 for 1 vouchers and Bridget Jones fuelled epiphanies. (I would not be surprised if Ben and Jerry book a 3 month holiday every year on the 15th of February).
If you have avoided the school-boy error of dragging someone home from Mozza last night – have no fear. The wise guys of The Drop have some unromantic gestures of our own, perfect for letting that not so special someone know that you’re just not that into them.
Table for two?
Be a gentleman and give your girl a break from the ivory towers of ‘Taj ma lash’ by pulling out her PVC chair at Mega Kebab. Be sure to pull out all the stops by bringing a bed sheet table cloth and your own cutlery, perhaps even splash out on a couple of cans of something fizzy.
We recommend a large doner with plenty of salad for her, served with two forks. Who said romance was dead?
For the flashy fresh, pluck yourself a female English student, preferable the mouthy ones in seminars who have good hair. Book a table at somewhere as precious as she is, we recommend Harrys or The abode.
Admire her idolatry of Beyoncé, her take on first world feminism, the glass ceiling you wish she’d hit her head against in the workplace, and then swiftly scarper while she ‘powders her nose’. If you should receive any abuse as a result of this stroke of genius, tell her you thought she was an ‘independent woman’.
Yours or yours?
If you should be so stupid as to invite her over for some sort of faux-intimacy to the subtle soundtrack of Skyrim and eau du Stella, we recommend you raise your game.
Amongst the glass graveyard of your patio, try to reclaim a dilapidated bottle of champers. Give it a once over before pottering to Saunders in search of Lambrini. After getting her nicely oiled on a few cheap merlots, present your spoils and ensure she drowns her inhibitions enough to be a total slut.
In the morning, don’t even think about a spoon, instead constantly remind her how embarrassing she was. This guilt trip alone could be enough for her to make you breakfast, clean your kitchen etc. However, beware of the empty-stomached; as there is no way of making vomit romantic (we really tried).
To prevent the aforementioned, we suggest that you rustle up a little something. By little we mean not haute-cuisine sized portions, but more half a smoked salmon bellini that got shrunk in the wash. When she innocently inquires what’s next, just look her up and down around seven times, or until her soul has been destroyed. This is when you suggest how to burn that off, with something that’s only 5 calories a tea spoon.
If you are a woman and you don’t own a trench coat, it is probably the reason you are not getting any/are in debt. Text your man suggesting he meet you in the library, coat clad. When he arrives, hot under his collar in anticipation, tell him he’s not getting anything until he has paid off that bitching fine and bought you one of everything from the vending machine.
No one hates presents. And he especially will not be expecting one. Purchase a sparkly offensive gift bag, preferably filled with sequins, wastes of paper etc.
Take one paper bag and affix something you’d rather see on top of you (we recommend Eddie Redmayne and Ryan Gosling this week, maybe on alternate sides). Fold it neatly and bury in deep within the bag.
Be deeply offended when he won’t wear it; after all guys, it’s the thought that counts.