Valentina instead of Valentine’s Day

It was Valentine’s Day. Not that I think Valentine’s Day is important. But we still remember: I had an appointment to go swimming with this beautiful yoga woman, not so relaxed strolling around in the sperm pool, we all know where that is, I don’t have to mention it explicitly here, but (unfortunately) we would have to go there anyway didn’t go there, but into the lake. Almost 6 degrees. Icy cold, but perhaps that is why it is so hot.

And then the yoga deer wrote to me a few days before the meeting that it would be Valentine’s Day, but I didn’t know what was so important about that. I didn’t look into it and decided that as long as she didn’t tell me what the problem was or what the expectation was for that day, I didn’t need to think about it any further.

As Valentine’s Day approached, her messages became stranger. (A rhyme, again especially for you, just for you.) She asked if I had thought of anything. I wrote that I would wear the red swimming trunks. She sent a laughing emoji, I thought everything is fine.

Incorrect.

A day later she asked, “No, seriously.” I wrote that I would cover the entire Lake Zurich with floating rose petals. Just like in the Insta Reels from Bali. She sent a laughing emoji.

The day before she wrote that she hated that it was like this, but the day was important to her and she was single for the first time that day, which I think is great, but I don’t know anything about her relationship history. I considered writing that I had never been “not single” on Valentine’s Day, but I didn’t because she asked if we wanted to go out to dinner afterwards. I thought the food was good. It now seemed to me as if the whole meeting might end well after all. Not just at home on the bike with blue lips, but perhaps drunk at home as a couple.

I removed the drunk thing immediately. She wrote Dry February. I asked, “Seriously?” – “Seriously,” she replied. I didn’t know that existed, but why wouldn’t it exist, and it’s somehow better because it’s the shortest month.

She sent some weird GIFs that I didn’t find funny. Maybe they weren’t meant to be funny, but rather romantic. I didn’t watch it, but I liked everything about it because I didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere.

And: Maybe I just hate Valentine’s Day, maybe Valentine’s Day is very important for many women. I asked Hanna if she celebrates Valentine’s Day. She sent back a question mark.

Now maybe I should admit that I have Valentine’s Day trauma. We all got a rose in the gym 9,837 years ago. No idea who. Probably not from the school administration. Maybe from SO? Does not matter. And you could give it to someone. I gave it to the girl I really liked and she…just passed the rose on. To the man she liked. Hanna still finds the story funny today. Me: average.

Now there is sex here and a rejection on the home stretch. The way you like it. Long foreplay and then the climax in just two sentences.

On that day, when we jumped into the lake at five o’clock in the evening, the yoga deer sent a message: “Happy Valentine’s Day!” I couldn’t answer because I was at work. Before lunch she sent a GIF, something with flowers. I was still working, how crazy is that. In the afternoon I wrote back and asked if she was ready for tonight. That was probably wrong or too late, because now she was sick. “Flu…,” she wrote.

Guys, I have no idea if she was actually sick. Maybe. Maybe not. To be honest, it doesn’t matter much to me.

I wrote to Valentina, the woman who only sees me as an addition, to ask if she had plans for the evening. “Or do you celebrate Valentine’s Day?” I asked. “Valentine’s Day? ‘Have we met?’ she wrote back. And then a few laughing emojis. And I finally understood everything a woman meant by that.

In that sense, it was the first time that I celebrated Valentine’s Day properly and extensively. Or rather: Valentina.

So long,

Ben