Still Crazy
02-13-2008, 12:06 PM
Claudia Winkleman: Take It From Me
'Single friends should be feeling sorry for us – the morons who have to go out and spend a fortune on a hideous supper'
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
Let's be clear. At exactly the same time last year I wrote something similar. And I know I'm supposed to come up with another "hook" or pretend I've changed my mind but I simply can't.
Here goes. Valentine's Day is for tossers.
There you go. Said it. Whoosh. It's out of the bag.
I have quite a few single friends who are already twitchy and slightly forlorn and embarrassed. They say they're planning on staying in tomorrow night and feeling really sorry for themselves. Feeling sorry for themselves? Do me a favour. They should be feeling sorry for US. The morons who have to go out and spend a fortune on a hideous supper surrounded by other monosyllabic unhappy couples all staring at their prawn cocktails wishing life was somehow different.
Please trust me. If you're single and you're dreading tomorrow, let me tell you how it really is.
You and your boyfriend/husband/partner (gross) are feeling immense pressure to have a nice time. Just because the bloke who runs Hallmark fancies buying another yacht. You wake up and have stilted, too-fast (or – God forbid – too-slow) morning sex before he brings you a lacklustre breakfast in bed. This will consist of overdone scrambled eggs (which more often than not will be off) and a pink carnation.
Then you'll give each other a truly revolting card – there might be a teddy on it, or even more excruciating, it might be a black and white photograph of two animals hugging. If there's no poem inside then you're one of the lucky ones but there might be a single line: "just because I love you...." I mean, someone pass me a bucket.
Then you'll kiss at the front door and arrange to meet up later. The man will be under tremendous pressure to come up with a "surprise". All day you'll be thinking: "Jeez, I wish I could just see my mates, or I wish I could swap boyfriends. I mean, could [insert name here] be more pathetic? He gave me a card with two polar bears on, for Christ's sake." And he's spending the day thinking: "I've spent my whole life working hard, having a good time with my mates and trying to be a good person and now it comes down to this – thinking of something different and fun to do with [insert name here] tonight and all I want is chicken fajitas, a Morse repeat and an uncomplicated blow job."
To make matters worse, for the last two weeks most papers and magazines have been full of ghastly heart-shaped graphics. There are real-life Valentine's Day stories: "We met on the bridge at the stroke of midnight on 14 February and we've been together ever since..." (yeah, right love) and truly ugly presents for that "special man or woman in your life" Let's be honest – none of us ever ever wants a crimson velvet photo frame (hurl) or a fluffy "I Love You" unicorn that lights up in the dark (who actually thought making that was a good idea).
Shop windows are crammed with fat cupids holding up giant chocolate boxes and bouquets of flowers, and every restaurant is advertising "romantic candle-lit dinner – book early to avoid disappointment".
Seriously. Singletons. Know this. The night goes something like this. "Wow, how lovely, you've booked, uh, a table at the place round the corner." And she gets all dressed up and feels stupid because she's been at work all day and wants to put on a tracksuit and eat a bag of Maltesers and he keeps his suit on but feels depressed and crumpled. They then make the slow walk round the corner and are led to a table of two through about 40 other tables for two.
The manager has a leery smile on his face, knowing that the men will feel obliged to order champagne or a fancy bottle of something and that the Valentine's set menu is a total rip-off but everyone will order it. So you sit down, opposite this man or woman and you think: "REALLY? That's the best I can do? This is the love of my life? And I'm on earth once and this is it? And what if he's NOT the one for me? But now we live in the same flat and have bought a bloody cat then I guess I might as well stick with them."
And on a normal night the bloke or girl you're sitting opposite seems totally fine. You order a bowl of spaghetti and a beer and you race home for Heroes and everything is totally OK. But tonight everything is different and wrong and they're suddenly not very attractive and not very interesting and a bit sweaty and you don't want to have to have sex with them AGAIN because you did it this morning and you're missing America's Next Top Model/Top Gear and, oh my God, a man's just walked in and he's playing a violin.
So, yes. Valentine's Day is for tossers – and if you're single, revel in it. We are having a shit time. Sure, for the other 364 days of the year, having someone special to hang out with is pretty nice. But on February 14th, it's revolting.
'Single friends should be feeling sorry for us – the morons who have to go out and spend a fortune on a hideous supper'
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
Let's be clear. At exactly the same time last year I wrote something similar. And I know I'm supposed to come up with another "hook" or pretend I've changed my mind but I simply can't.
Here goes. Valentine's Day is for tossers.
There you go. Said it. Whoosh. It's out of the bag.
I have quite a few single friends who are already twitchy and slightly forlorn and embarrassed. They say they're planning on staying in tomorrow night and feeling really sorry for themselves. Feeling sorry for themselves? Do me a favour. They should be feeling sorry for US. The morons who have to go out and spend a fortune on a hideous supper surrounded by other monosyllabic unhappy couples all staring at their prawn cocktails wishing life was somehow different.
Please trust me. If you're single and you're dreading tomorrow, let me tell you how it really is.
You and your boyfriend/husband/partner (gross) are feeling immense pressure to have a nice time. Just because the bloke who runs Hallmark fancies buying another yacht. You wake up and have stilted, too-fast (or – God forbid – too-slow) morning sex before he brings you a lacklustre breakfast in bed. This will consist of overdone scrambled eggs (which more often than not will be off) and a pink carnation.
Then you'll give each other a truly revolting card – there might be a teddy on it, or even more excruciating, it might be a black and white photograph of two animals hugging. If there's no poem inside then you're one of the lucky ones but there might be a single line: "just because I love you...." I mean, someone pass me a bucket.
Then you'll kiss at the front door and arrange to meet up later. The man will be under tremendous pressure to come up with a "surprise". All day you'll be thinking: "Jeez, I wish I could just see my mates, or I wish I could swap boyfriends. I mean, could [insert name here] be more pathetic? He gave me a card with two polar bears on, for Christ's sake." And he's spending the day thinking: "I've spent my whole life working hard, having a good time with my mates and trying to be a good person and now it comes down to this – thinking of something different and fun to do with [insert name here] tonight and all I want is chicken fajitas, a Morse repeat and an uncomplicated blow job."
To make matters worse, for the last two weeks most papers and magazines have been full of ghastly heart-shaped graphics. There are real-life Valentine's Day stories: "We met on the bridge at the stroke of midnight on 14 February and we've been together ever since..." (yeah, right love) and truly ugly presents for that "special man or woman in your life" Let's be honest – none of us ever ever wants a crimson velvet photo frame (hurl) or a fluffy "I Love You" unicorn that lights up in the dark (who actually thought making that was a good idea).
Shop windows are crammed with fat cupids holding up giant chocolate boxes and bouquets of flowers, and every restaurant is advertising "romantic candle-lit dinner – book early to avoid disappointment".
Seriously. Singletons. Know this. The night goes something like this. "Wow, how lovely, you've booked, uh, a table at the place round the corner." And she gets all dressed up and feels stupid because she's been at work all day and wants to put on a tracksuit and eat a bag of Maltesers and he keeps his suit on but feels depressed and crumpled. They then make the slow walk round the corner and are led to a table of two through about 40 other tables for two.
The manager has a leery smile on his face, knowing that the men will feel obliged to order champagne or a fancy bottle of something and that the Valentine's set menu is a total rip-off but everyone will order it. So you sit down, opposite this man or woman and you think: "REALLY? That's the best I can do? This is the love of my life? And I'm on earth once and this is it? And what if he's NOT the one for me? But now we live in the same flat and have bought a bloody cat then I guess I might as well stick with them."
And on a normal night the bloke or girl you're sitting opposite seems totally fine. You order a bowl of spaghetti and a beer and you race home for Heroes and everything is totally OK. But tonight everything is different and wrong and they're suddenly not very attractive and not very interesting and a bit sweaty and you don't want to have to have sex with them AGAIN because you did it this morning and you're missing America's Next Top Model/Top Gear and, oh my God, a man's just walked in and he's playing a violin.
So, yes. Valentine's Day is for tossers – and if you're single, revel in it. We are having a shit time. Sure, for the other 364 days of the year, having someone special to hang out with is pretty nice. But on February 14th, it's revolting.