No, I won't be yours.

That time of year had come again and this time, there was no escape. It was everywhere. Couples were kissing in front of me in the queue at Starbucks whilst I waited for my quadruple shot latte, disgusting teddy bears holding “I love you” hearts were replacing my beloved chocolate raisins in the confectionery aisle at the supermarket, flower stools were springing up on every corner.. There was no escaping Valentine’s Day.

Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not one of those Valentine’s haters, I’m just merely someone going through a crazy i-hate-love/couples/relationships stage and so obviously, am not enamored with all the commercial bullshit that goes with it. Having said that, I still checked my mail in case there was a cheeky card waiting for me from a secret admirer – there wasn’t. Instead, there was a card addressed to my 50 plus, married mother, which I obviously opened. It wasn’t even one of those grotesque sexual cards, with tacky slogans such “let’s do the naked tango” or “I love all the bones in your body, especially mine” splashed across the front that I had seen polluting the aisles of Paperchase. Nope, it was an anonymous card, with a flower on the front and a hershey’s kiss inside. Unbelievable.

I did, however, have a date that evening. Feeling like a traitor to my firm relationships-are-the-anti-christ beliefs, it was short and sweet, flowerless and of course, sexless.

The Wednesday before was the setting for a much funnier event. The date had been very planned – this guy was super posh, not a hair out of place, the kind who wears a shirt skiing. We were supposed to go for shisha, then a bar, then finally onto a club. The fact that he was clearly a Nazi when it came to organising dates significantly put me off. So we met for shisha, had some silly banter about the correct way to pour tea and whether having backlava with shisha should be outlawed, then moved on to a pub, then to a club nearby.

All was going fine, except for the minor blip when a man shouted abuse at me for wearing a fur coat – I think “animal killer” were his exact words. 1am, my phone rings. It was a phone call from a friend who was staying with me, and who was standing outside my front door. It was -5 degrees, she had open toe shoes, it would have been criminal to keep her waiting, right? I inform my date of the problem, and strangely, he starts getting angry. How strange, I mean fair enough if he was pissed off that he clearly wasn’t getting a goodbye kiss let along a shag, but how pathetic to display emotion so blatantly. I probed him about why he was being quiet, and he tells me I was using “the classic girl excuse” to get out of our every-second-planned soiree. He walked me home but I was still outraged. This goes against all rules of dating etiquette.

The next day I received a text from him and feeling quite guilty, I replied, short and sweet.
Me : “Thanks for last night! Hope you’re well x x”
Him : “I’m very well thank you. Are you well?”

I am pretty sure I don’t need to explain myself any further. There will be no future dates. Next!