There is absolutely no way that this can be a bad day for me today. And I'll tell you why, (as you knew I would.)
Look, I could get hit by a car today... and let's pray I don't. I could lose my job... and let's really pray I don't. Hell, I could be walking outside, and be the unfortunate recipient of pigeon poop, (should a pigeon be foolish enough to be flying around in this tiresome sub-zero weather.) And do you know why, after (hopefully not) getting hit by a car, losing my job and getting shat upon by a pigeon, it would still be a good day? Because my friends, all day long, no matter what happens, I'll still be rockin' a pair of size 10 pants.
Thank you. Thank you very much. I'm 12 and I'm shallow.
* * *
Why I'm really beginning to believe that I'm quite a cool human being...
So, a couple of weeks ago, a girlfriend and I decided that, on Valentine's Day, we would celebrate the fact that we're the last two single people in the world by laughing in the face of a silly day on the calendar. Dancing, drinking, and a general whooping good time would be had. Yesterday she opted out, which was disappointing because as you all know, there's nothing I like better than shaking my rapidly diminishing arse to a good syncopated beat.
Now, you know what the song says... One Is The Loneliest Number (go ahead... just TRY to get that out of your head for the rest of the day!)... and so I was getting ready to settle into a calorie-laden February 14th that included Tom and Meg and Andy and Meg and Billy and Meg and several dozen caramel-filled chocolate hearts. And a pint of ice cream. And a bag of Doritos. And a whole lot of Bailey's.
But you know... that's just sad. And frankly, a girl who just lost a freakin' load of weight, and looks as priest-defrockingly hot as I do has no reason to be sad. In fact, I have every reason to leave the house on Valentine's Day just to share the beauty that is I with the rest of the world. I would therefore have to abandon my plan of Zen and the Art of Meg Ryan and Gluttony.
While flipping through the paper yesterday evening, I came across the ad for Mambo Italiano, a show in Toronto that I've been just dying to see. Three minutes later, I was on the phone to TicketKings.
"Hello, this is Ian. How can I help you?"
"Hello Ian. What have you got available for Mambo Italiano on February 14th?"
"Ooh, not much at this late date, I'm afraid. Just a few scattered singles."
"Perfect, because that's exactly what I am. A scattered single."
"Excellent. How's third row centre suit you?"
And so that's how I'm spending Valentine's Day. A good meal - by myself, because there is nothing so intriguing as a gorgeous woman who's able to eat in a restaurant by herself without looking like it's a crime. A fabulous show, seen not from some far-away mezzanine seat, but right up front, where I deserve to be. And the best part? I'm spending Valentine's this year with someone whose company I'm really beginning to enjoy. Someone who's proving herself to be quite a happenin' chick. Valentine's should be spent with the one you love, no?
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