Beware Valentine's Day Eve

We're almost up to one of the most dangerous days of the year for the lonely bachelor, Valentine's Day. And I swear, if I see any photos of nude women standing behind big red hearts I'm going to lose it.

There are certain things you simply don't want polluting your thoughts. But what can I do? Lovemaking and frolicking, posing for pictures, then heading back to the open arms of some local Fabio; no doubt it's going on all the time around me.

Grandma always told me the right girl would come along. And I think I've seen her pass by a few times, usually in a convertible with four other guys. So I trudge along, mowing the yard, wiping my brow, looking up at the shingles flapping in the wind, and think, the next one. That'll be her, in a pretty breezy, gingham dress; or perhaps in leather; and, you know, if she's the right girl, maybe she'll have a big red heart in her hope chest.

Isn't it something they say, that it's better not to have loved at all than to have loved and lost? So I'm on the right side of history, or whatever kind of philosophy that is. Is that Nietzsche? He was that crazy guy who said something like "Whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger." I used to think that. But try loneliness on for size; you won't like it. That's when you find out that whatever doesn't kill you just weakens you up for something else to kill you next time. So it's a matter of prolonging the agony until you're on your death bed. Then the death angel -- a pretty thing, ethereal and perhaps nude, just to rub it in -- takes you to heaven. Where they neither marry nor are given in marriage. It's one big religious experience, no hanky panky.

This is the day before the big day. And I hate it, I'm not going to hide it. It's a great day to sleep in all day. But there's one bright side that can't be denied. I'm saving a ton of money not having to buy gifts for whoever she would have been.