D Day! I mean, V Day! If it’s a day where you cuddle up with your significant other for a romantic evening or pick up some bar slut with a convenience store rose; congratulations! Hallmark has a moist, geriatric kiss waiting for you! For you Bitter Bettys who don matching apparel, down numerous shots in the name of “not needing a man” and finish up the night in the fetal position on a public bathroom floor asking the universe why he never called – cut it out. You’re an embarrassment and shouldn’t go outside. It’s a day where children make mailboxes and give everyone in the class a card; gender notwithstanding (prompting one of my very favorite standup bits and my old email address). Love it, hate it, leave it; it’s February 14th and unlike the 29th, it comes every year. Whenever i hear someone say “Valentine’s Day”, my brain immediately adds the word “massacre”; but i digress. I’ve decided to author a little romance in my own life this year and have identified the object of my affection. Wisely realizing that love is pain, i have scheduled an appointment for myself with a certain distinguished Ft. Lauderdale cosmetic dermatologist on Valentine’s Eve Day (that is too a thing) to embrace my true love: my skin 10 years ago. It’s gonna get ugly; it’s gonna hurt. but dammit, it is going to be awesome.