“I’m gonna go down the shops and get some stuff for dinner.”
“Don’t even think of coming back with overpriced flowers and wishing me a Happy Stupid Day.”
“You mean Valentine’s Day.”
“No, cuntrock. I mean Stupid Day. It’s naked bullshit profiteering by dirty greed-fucks, driven by stupid man-pigs, and supported by evil molls.”
“But you like it when I buy you flowers…”
“Of course I do. But I don’t like this St Stupid crap where they jack the prices up, and fill the servos with little Chinese teddy bears holding stuffed hearts or impaled on Alfoil balloons. What kind of idiot spends money on that? You think we’re stupid and don’t know you bought that shit in a servo?”
“But…surely it’s the thought that counts…”
“The thought? Like it’s just occurred to you that you love me and you’d best show me by buying me a petrol-station toy? What happened the last time you did that?”
“You threw it in the bin and asked me if I’d had a stroke and had become retarded.”
“You now understand how this works. I’m special every fucking day. Not just on some bullshit saint’s floral-marketing-stunt day. By all means buy me flowers when it occurs to you, or gifts, or take me somewhere nice. But do it because every fucken day is special with me. Not because some evil dick is charging $50 for a five-dollar rose.”
“Well, I had considered jewellery…”
“You ever come home with one of those Pandora shackles and you won’t see another sunrise.”
“Yes, you that clear some years ago when I asked if you’d like one.”
“You know what that Pandora shit is?”
“I do. You’ve told me.”
“I will tell you again just so you’ll understand nothing has changed. It’s one of the greatest money-making schemes anyone has ever come up with. I wish you’d come up with it instead of deciding that being a dirt-poor writer was a smart career choice. Stupid man-gronks buy their demanding bitches a Pandora bracelet, and then the poor fool has doomed himself to buying her a new bauble each time she passes a soft poo, goes out with her friends, or remembers why her father was cruel to her. All thought is removed from the gift-buying process. The only thing the idiot has to remember is if he’s already bought her that bauble – and I’m sure that happens all the time. It’s not a fucken gift. It’s an insult. Dumb sluts think their so special they deserve a trinket each and every time they bake a cake.”
“You haven’t baked a cake in ages.”
“I don’t bake. You’re the fucken baker.”
“So is there anything I can do for you on this day? To show you how much I love you?”
“You ask me every year. I tell you the same thing every year. It’s nothing but a huge marketing campaign designed to empty your wallet. This day is no more special than any other day except my birthday. Best you show me how much you love me every day. And stay the fuck away from KFC. I didn’t marry cholesterol Buddha.”
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