It seems to hit women the hardest and the symptoms range in a plethora of maladies. For some, it's bloating, vomiting, and overall physical discomfort. It's as if they were spoiled rotten the night before and overindulged in either too much chocolate, champagne, fine food, or a combination thereof. Yes, these particular gals are pathetic and they deserve the least of our sympathy. Let's move on, shall we? There are also women who wander about today in a lovesick zombie haze as if someone bonked them over the head with a cricket bat. I feel that instead of being "bonked" that perhaps next time they should be beheaded and end the zombie apocalypse now before it has a chance to get started. Finally, there are the tragic souls whose eyes appear blood shot from a long night of crying along with disappointed looks on their faces. These are the women with whom I can relate with most and would gladly risk life and limb picketing with at the gates of the greeting card manufacturers. Truly, to point any conspiratorial finger, one must begin at the root cause; the makers of the sentimental bah-humbug which gets transferred upon the unsuspecting masses.
Men are also susceptible to this disease but as a sex, they're a tougher lot. They have a keen nose for a scam when they see it coming; however, they're tied to their counterpart's whims and therefore when their partners go down, there can sometimes be serious repercussions if they're not on "their game" beforehand. For instance, if their loved one in question says, "Don't get me anything", this is clearly a ploy. Of course they want something. Their partner doesn't want to appear greedy or needy. A small box of chocolates, a card, or better yet, a love letter will bring the dude to places he's only dared dream past his first date or honeymoon. Trust me I know. I'm a ploy player. (I have my faults. I am not proud but at least I'm honest.) If the man in question buys into this ploy (pardon the pun) and does nothing but wait for his dinner to be served on February 14th, he'll most likely be nursing a concussion from the frying pan welt on the back of his head today. As I've mentioned earlier, I'm writing about an epidemic.
Now, I'm sure many of you are wondering how I'm feeling this morning. Am I wearing a protective mask? Am I a little green around the edges? Swollen eyes? How's my dear husband doing? Is he still lying unconscious at the dinner table? Well, truth be told, I've taken more antacid tablets than I care to count and yet I'm still trying to finish off my chocolate cake for breakfast. Eric took the day off from work, is grinning ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat, and is gallivanting around Denver with his cousin from Southern California. I don't think I have the energy or the inclination to picket the greeting card companies today seeing as how my husband bought me four lovely cards yesterday and hid them throughout the house. Do I have the Post Valentine's Blues? Not yet but ask me after I finish off that last bite of chocolate cake...perhaps I'll have an answer for you by then.