Saint Valentine’s Day rolls around just once a year. And if you’ve been married as long as I have, your chances for sex don’t come much more often. ‘There’s always next year‘ is a fine mantra for a Cubs fan or a Libertarian, but not for a lover. So don’t miss your amorous opportunity this time around — heed the following Valentine’s Day advice.
Nobody wants to hear the story of Saint Valentine
Simply put, any story that ends with a beheading is not going to get you laid. If you must tell a ‘topical’ story, try something from ‘Penthouse Letters‘, instead. Much hotter, and the tales there almost never end in decapitations.
Let your partner tell you when it’s time to see your underwear
Guys, I know she tells you she likes surprises. I know she wants you to be spontaneous. But greeting her at the door — or, god forbid, at her office — wearing nothing but a trenchcoat and a pair of edible undies is not helping anyone. Besides the fact that you look ridiculous, mid-February is still quite cold in many parts of the world. For your own sake, think of the ‘shrinkage’.
Ladies… ignore this point altogether. We always want to see your underwear. Or, preferably, your lack thereof. You little vixens, you.
Don’t eat the candy hearts
First of all, they taste like styrofoam ass. Chalky styrofoam ass. Who wants to eat chalky styrofoam ass? Nobody, that’s who.
Also, remember that a candy approximately as dry as the Sahara will rob you of all the saliva you’ve managed to produce that week. And your kissy-faced schnookums isn’t going to appreciate sucking on your parched, wrinkly tongue. It’s not ‘Saint French-The-Elderly Day’, after all. I think that one’s in September.
Finally, realize that the average number of candy hearts a person can eat without ralphing them back up is somewhere in the neighborhood of two. And while the irony of seeing a regurgitated ‘I M N2 U!‘ in the toilet bowl is ‘delicious‘, it is by no means ‘romantic‘