Valentine’s Day, boys — yes, that strange holiday on which 62 percent of us feel like dopes — is on its way.
Alright, technically it’s three weeks off but the blitz of propaganda has begun. What is love? Is it a heart-shaped box of Russell Stover? Is it flowers? And if so, what kind of flowers? There are a lotta damn kinds of flowers! Is spending a lot of money on a restaurant with tablecloths the way to go? Or are you supposed to do something quirky like they do in movies, where you wear an ironic tuxedo and have a picnic the the park and make smores? And the group of boisterous gay guys on the blanket near yours, who are borderline ruining this ’90s-era rom-com moment, stands up and turns around and suddenly they’re a barbershop quartet singing “At Last,” which according to her is “your song”? It’s the best Valentine’s Day she’s ever had and you engineered it with a watchmaker’s precision, you clever devil! You Rembrandt of romance. You Bill Gates of hot dates. You Stephen Hawking of sweet-talking.
Is that what she wants? Or are you really better off with the box of Russell Stover? Sigmund Freud went to his grave not knowing, so don’t think you’ll find the answer here. Hell, we’ve never even met your girl.
Feeling stressed? Sorry. Here’s something that everybody loves: A 19-year-old Hungarian Victoria’s Secret model in sexy Valentine’s Day lingerie.
And when we say “everybody” loves it, we mean not quite half. We mean the boys love it, excepting the ones in that barbershop quartet. And the girls might love the lingerie, but they probably feel Barbara Palvin isn’t necessary. Which is a shame — after all, Barbara Palvin is a human being too. She has feelings. She would probably really appreciate that heart-shaped box of Russell Stover. Russell Stover is like gold in Budapest.
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