You Gotta Bleed for Love
There are many injustices in life. Being physically incapable of doing a pull-up, for example. Or eating just one Pop Tart. Or running more than 4 miles. But these are all things that are out of one’s control. Nothing can be done.
With such harsh realities in mind, you’ll meet your friends for a Valentine’s Day dinner in D.C. with the additional understanding that people who are far more undesirable than you will have significant others. Furthermore, they’ll most likely be sharing a romantic meal. Damn you, cruel world!
But you’ll still feel wholly unprepared when you sit down for dinner and see a woman standing next to your table, speaking with a gentleman caller in some sort of blind date situation. Clad in a fur coat that appears to be made from puppy skin, Cruella De Vil will decide to rest her wine glass next to your plate and lean her body against your table while chatting with Poor Bastard No. 1.
Though her lack of physical boundaries and restaurant etiquette are somewhat concerning, you’ll be most distressed to observe a steady stream of blood suddenly coming from her nose–the crimson drops of which are hitting the white floor next to your shoe.
Cru will not notice her actively bleeding nose, nor will her new boo seem particularly troubled by her draining orifice. The two will continue to chat and blood will continue to pool around your leg until, wait, what’s that, a second man will approach. Turns out he, too, wants a piece of this hot dish.
Now, it’s been an otherwise pleasant–if not completely devoid of love–Valentine’s Day, but enough is enough. This woman now has two potential suitors and you–a person who is not actively bleeding from any part of your body–has zero.
Bitch probably ate just one Pop Tart for breakfast, too.