Ahhh yes, it is that time of year again! In a few days will be the day. The day that is celebrated, loathed, looked forward to and dreaded for an entire 364 days.
The day where men spend far too much money on useless trinkets, flowers that will die, candy that will either get inhaled or tossed out because the recipient is “watching her figure”, forgotten and fought over, cried about, stressed, last second shopped and failed, or completely ignored.
I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, or are counting down the days already- but in under a week it will be Valentines day.
Do we celebrate it here? No. Not really. We’ve never been the emotional sappy “please buy me shit you can’t afford and I have nowhere to wear” couple. Give me some Reeses and we’re set. I’m easy to please.
The general rule for those in a relationship, however, is to have sex. It’s customary. Tradition?? I’m not sure. It’s almost like an unspoken rule.
If you are betrothed and Valentines Day comes around, you had BETTER give your significant other some ass.
Poor Thomas… He is NOT getting laid this year. And it’s not because he did something wholly douchy or engage in some man-like fuckery that put him on sex restriction (although, i’m not going to discount that to happen just yet. We still have 4 days after all!)
So why the ban on sex for the most romantic day of the year?
Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?
This has to do with lady parts. Most namely, my ovaries and uterus, both of whom are evil whores. They have always refused to let me keep track of them by having totally fucked up cycles every single month for as long as I can remember. That in addition with the fact that I just can’t be bothered to remember dates or times or blood flow- and every month I end up thinking i’m late and doing the “holy shit could I be pregnant??” panic dance. EVERY MONTH. Never fails.
Well, I suppose my friends got sick of me constantly asking THEM, or forgetting and freaking out to them, so they suggested I download a handy dandy little App for my phone to keep track for me so that I would never have to ask again.
When they said there was an app for EVERYTHING, they did not lie.
I jumped all over that shit. No more worrying! This handy dandy little piece of technology would do all the work for me as long as I could remember to punch in when that cunt Aunt Flo made her arrival and departed for a month or two so that the whacked out cycles I have could be accurately predicted (that whole shit about 28 days? it ain’t true).
As soon as I punched in this month’s info (y’know, when I could remember to), that fancy little doodad popped up with its prediction of my most fertile days of February… and can you wager a guess as to which day it claims is “IF YOU LET HIM POKE YOU, YOU WILL GET KNOCKED UP” day?
Good ol’ Valentines Day.
I know what you’re thinking, trust me I do! What about birth control? How about you wrap it up?
Well, after hemorrhaging from my lady bits for 7 months on depo I swore off birth control for life- and condoms? They just aren’t trustworthy enough for me! WHY?
Allow me to enlighten you.
Our of the past 5 Valentines day- 2 I have been pregnant. SHIT, In 2009, I found OUT I was unexpectedly pregnant the day before Valentines day (which also happened to be Friday the 13th), with no knowledge of ever doing the dirty in recent recollection.
Wonky cycles, bitchy uterus, and hateful ovaries aside- this time of the year has proven to be my MOST fertile time… and mama doesn’t want another surprise baby so if I have to keep the husband away with a stick and buck Valentines Day bootie- you’d damn well better believe i’m going to do it!
Sorry husband! Maybe next year? Oh.. that’s right..
I've never had a near death experience, but I DID find 2 spiders in my house this morning, and that's pretty much the same thing.
If you like to be constantly criticized over your peanut butter to jelly ratio on sandwiches, being a parent is definitely for you.
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