Valentine's Day Retrospective

So it's Valentine's Day. You probably expect a nice little commentary, tinged with bitterness, punctuated with mildly embarrassing and self-deprecating attempts at humor. But you'd be wrong. What we have for you instead is kind of an open letter to my past loves. This is my chance to say all those things I never said that I wish I had. Valentine's Retrospective: a look back at the boys I've loved before…punctuated with mildly embarrassing and self-deprecating attempts at humor.

Boy #1:

You were the love of my life. For a while. After we broke up, it took us years to get to the point where we did not hate each other and could have a normal conversation that didn't involve thinly veiled insults or degrading the other's current love interest or career choice. We are finally friends and I wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize that. Which is why you must stop asking to spoon with me. And please get your hand off my leg…

Boy #2:

Although it was not the first indication that we would never live happily ever after, looking back I think it was the most obvious: your collection of nutcracker dolls. Especially the four-foot tall one. They gave me the creeps and weren't even functional for cracking nuts. I understand that they were gifts from your grandmother but that doesn't mean you should display them year-round. But I was not very nice to you, and for that I am sorry. Please tell your sister to stop giving me the stinkeye and intimidating my friends in bars. It's been two years. Talk about holding a grudge. I said I was sorry. Sheesh.

Boy #3:

I still can't believe you picked that other (not as cute) girl over me. I thought things were going well. It was a real shock (and blow to the ego) to find out that you can't always get by on your good looks and guys actually want to date a girl who is a good, nice, caring, compassionate person. And I am not that person so it's probably for the best. Anyway, when things don't work out with the nice girl, you have my number.

Boy #4:

We sure had some good times together, didn't we? Like, remember the time, months after you had broken my heart, when we were hooking up over Christmas break and you said that we had to stop because your (fun surprise!) girlfriend at school, the one whose existence you failed to inform me of, was coming for a visit? And then remember how just mere hours after you had left my bedroom, you were dumb enough to take her to our favorite bar and I happened to be there too, drowning my sorrows? The look on your face was priceless as we made eye contact. I get all choked up with nostalgia remembering how you were sweating bullets and wondering what crazy scene I might cause. Watching you squirm and then practically tackle the waitress in your haste to get the check ranks in the top five all-time best 15 minutes of my life and I would pay a lot of money to relive it. Thank you for your unbelievable stupidity.

Boy #5:

I didn't treat you very well either and I'm sorry. But now that we are older and more mature, maybe you'd like to give it another go? I really think we could make it work this time. I know things got kind of complicated there for a while, but this time I'll make it really easy for you. How about we just make out a little? No? Snuggle? Ok, you're right. I'll stop now…

Boy #6:

You were hot. Somewhere between Calvin Klein and J. Crew model with a dash of preppy. And we shared a wonderful love/obsession/addiction for coffee that will never again be equaled with anyone else in this lifetime. Too bad you only wanted to be my boyfriend after 10 p.m. I tried to meet you halfway. I was willing to overlook the fact that you enjoyed romantic comedies and wore sweatpants in public if you would have just called me when you were sober. I'm not saying I'm above a booty call, but let's not be ridiculous. I do require a little advanced notice. Don't call me at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday just because you're drunk. I've already been asleep for hours because some people have jobs. And you've just sacrificed the last shred of your dignity. The final remaining shred that you miraculously didn't lose by confessing that Notting Hill was your favorite move. Gone.