February 3, 2017
Your name rhymes with stupid.
Each year you put upon us a tremendous amount of pressure. You beg us to accept and invite into our lives a color otherwise reserved for noisy fire engines, and ex-boyfriends’ accent walls. Dare we even discuss the price you expect us to pay in restaurants that flip us as carelessly as flat jacks? Despite your yearly insistence on forcing love and romance to manifest itself upon one single day… well, we resist.
Roses this beautiful and love, ahh… LOVE. Neither are simply a passing madness. We want them everyday and we shall have them everyday. Red roses, we’ll see you on the 15th and everyday thereafter.