Finding Your Inner Bitch on Valentine’s Day


Let’s talk about Cadbury eggs.

These are gross.
These are gross.

A good friend of mine loves Cadbury Eggs. You know—those fondant crème chocolate eggs that are ubiquitous as Peeps just before Easter. Sure, I’ve seen them at other times of the year, but they’re usually relegated to a remote corner of a Walgreens, lurking on an untouched section of shelf, and covered with enough dust to give you Black Lung Disease. So I was surprised when I walked into a grocery store right before Christmas and saw a fresh-looking display front-and-center, overflowing with dust-free Cadbury eggs. I immediately called my friend, sure she’d be excited by the news. “You’re not going to believe this,” I said in a taunting, sing-song voice. “I am staring at an entire display of fresh Cadbury Eggs right now!” I figured that after she did a backflip and saluted the judges, she’d demand that I buy every one of them on the spot. Instead, she sniffed, “I never eat anything the Easter Bunny’s laid before the Christ Child is born.”

Okie-dokie, then.

This is your life.

Let’s talk about Forrest Gump. No, seriously.

At a writer’s conference a couple of years ago, a group of us were enjoying a round of drinks in the hotel bar, when the topic of Forrest Gump came up. All agreed that it was a fine, funny movie and, well into our second, third, and even fourth cocktails, each of us threw out their favorite Forrest Gump platitude. There were the usual suspects: “Peas and carrots,” and “I was ruuunning!” and “Life is like a box of chocolates.”

My friend, who I will refer to as “Forrest” solely for purposes of anonymity, paused briefly before saying, “I never understood that one. ‘Life is like a box of chocolates—you never know what you’re going to get?’ What do you mean you don’t know what you’re going to get? You’re going to get fuckin’ chocolate!”

Oh dear.

You can break down a woman temporarily but a Real Woman will always pick up the pieces, rebuild herself,
and come back stronger than ever.” Anonymous

Each of these anecdotes has two things in common. 1) Chocolate. 2) They both eventually found their way to a file in my computer called “Funny/Stupid Shit My Friends Say When Sober/Drunk That I Will Later Use in a Novel/Guest Blog Post at Some Point with Only a Minimal Effort to Hide Their Identity.”

No one is spared. To be fair to me (and I love to be fair to me), I give these people plenty of  warning. When I meet someone for the first time and discover that they’re very funny, I tell them, “Anything you say can and will be used in my next book.” Ask anyone.

It’s at this point in my blog posts that I usually provide a tie-in of sorts between the humorous anecdote, Valentine’s Day, and the pleasure of reading. Now, you might think the two above stories share no immediately discernible commonalities. Ah, but you’d be wrong.

As you can see, they both have to do with chocolate. (Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day, it’s almost obligatory.) And…that’s pretty much it.

No, wait! There is one other thing. Let’s talk about Your Feminine Side.

Your Feminine Side. Someone get her some chocolate.

Your Feminine Side is the part of you that you’re supposed to be “getting in touch with,” as if it’s an old college roommate you stopped calling fifteen years ago after they became richer and more successful than you. Instead of “Getting in Touch with Your Feminine Side,” I recommend that you “Find Your Inner Bitch.”

I’m strong because I’ve been weak. I’m brave because I’ve been afraid. I’m wise because I’ve been foolish.

Because your Feminine Side wonders if their significant other will buy you chocolate on Valentine’s Day. Your Inner Bitch just drives to the store and buys those dusty Cadbury Eggs for herself.

woman-eating-chocolate (1)
Your Inner Bitch: too busy living to give a damn about a bouquet of flowers.

Your Feminine Side sits at home on Valentine’s Day and wonders if it’s okay to be single after all this time. Your Inner Bitch goes to a hot-tub party with other single girlfriends, and agrees with the group that if you were married/in a relationship, you’d probably be spending V-Day picking dirty boxer briefs off the floor, and telling him for the umpteenth time that him farting constantly in front of you drastically reduces the odds that he will ever bed you again (the limp bouquet of flowers he picked up on the way home notwithstanding).

So, whatever your status on Valentine’s Day—married or single—find Your Inner Bitch and just make it happen. Save Your Feminine Side for when you’re PMS-ing and reading one of my books.

And hey—don’t forget to have Your Inner Bitch pick up the chocolate on the way home.


One Comment

  • Linda Reply

    One year I didn’t get flowers, so i went and got my own. Have called them “spite roses” ever since

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