It’s 2001 and its a cold Valentine’s Day morning in Upstate NY. A young man walks down the hallway of his high school.
In his right hand, he is tightly gripping a handwritten poem. In his left hand, he holds a scratch n’ sniff teddy bear. Yeah, that’s an actual thing.
He stops at the locker of his beloved, a very pretty brunette. Her hair cascades as she turns around to greet him. She coos at the sight of the teddy bear and when he nervously forces out “also I wrote this for you”, and hands her the poem, she says “awww”. His offering is rewarded with a non-sexual hug and a smile. She walks away before he can find the balls to ask her out.
You know, if I had a time machine and only one chance to use it, I would not use it for great altruism or profit. I wouldn’t go back to 1986 and buy Microsoft stock. I wouldn’t go back to 1914 and save Archduke Franz Ferdinand from assassination to possibly help prevent the two worldwide bloodbaths that followed. Nay.
What I would do is go back to February 13, 2001 the night when I was buying that teddy bear and writing that poem, and beat the fucking shit out of myself.
I have plenty more to say about this but I’m getting sick to my stomach just thinking about it. I reserve the right to delete this post, not even my best friends know this story.
V-Day is a beta check. Romance is a scripted chore to the beta. Don’t do flowers, jewelry, expensive dinners. If you have a steady girl, its champagne and lingerie. Or nothing. But if you take nothing else from my blog, take this: Do NOT write a girl a poem.
