‘It’s Just The 14th Day Of Another Bleedin’ Month’: Dublin Girlo On Surviving V-Day When You’re Forever Alone
This month, our columnist is getting all Thank U, Next on us.
The big day is approaching. A day filled with love and romance, overflowing with flowers and chocolates and the one day of the year you are guaranteed the ride. Unless, like me, you are forever alone. Then it’s just another 14th day of another bleedin’ month.
Every year I secretly pray the next one is going to be different. That it will finally be my time to collect a bunch of flowers from reception in work and take a reddener when I walk back into my office with them, but not this year Huns and probably not next year either.
I like to think I’m doing okay for myself. My hair is finally at a length where I no longer need a full set of extensions. My waist is a size 8 while my arse is a size 12 and I don’t need Botox just yet. I have a job I love, Hunreal friends and an amazing family. So why am I putting so much emphasis on one day, and why am I even considering letting it melt my brain?
Well Huns, this year I have decided I’m not. Usually on V Day I sit around moping, thinking of all my exes (mainly because one of them dumped me the morning after out of nowhere a few years ago) and try to figure out where did it all go wrong…
Was I just too good in bed? Was it because every time I get drunk I try to talk in a Liverpool accent that makes me sound like I’m actually from Derry? Was it because I wouldn’t even consider that threesome he kept bringing up? And to be honest Huns, it was none of the above.
It couldn’t possibly be the first one now could it? And my accents crack me the fuck up. And a threesome, seriously? I have my own vagina to look at, why would I want to look at someone else’s?!
This year instead of wallowing on what could have been I’m counting my blessings and taking a long hard look at the choices I’ve made in the past, while trying to figure out what I actually want. The last person I was with I nicknamed ‘Fun Bobby’ (if you’re a Friends fan then you’ll know). Always mad for the sesh and great fun when we were on it, but at some point of him slurring my name and farting like a 50-year-old after he passed out I had a ‘what the fuck are you doing Hun’ moment.
When I did try to get him to do things that didn’t involve a sneaky naggin I always thought he was downing one in the jacks every time he went for a piss, so I had to walk away even though he had an eight-incher.
And not to go all Ariana Grande on yiz but I’m thankful for him. We had a ball together and many a night neither of us can remember but he showed me what I really wanted as my other half, and someone who puts vodka in their cornflakes isn’t it.
Maybe I’m just getting older Huns. Or maybe seeing all my mates get engaged or having babies has my biological alarm screaming in my head, but this year I will be spending the big day with myself, maybe a glass of Lidl’s finest €7 red wine, something spicy from the Chinese down the road and an eight-incher that sticks to my headboard whenever I want it to. I hope ya’s have a Stunnin’ one, Huns!
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