A MESSAGE FOR THE WOMEN OF THE WORLD

As every good capitalist knows, October brings forth a very important holiday. Not Halloween. Halloween is the tool of Satan. I’m talking about Sweetest Day, the tool of Hallmark (also Satan). Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Vinnie, whatever shall I buy for my man, to show him the true magnitude of my love and devotion?” Fret no more, my little chickpeas. I’ll tell you what to buy your man: absolutely nothing. Let him buy you something. And if he complains, remember-- you have the ultimate power in your relationship. You can cut him off from you-know-what. Instead, this Sweetest Day, spend your love money on me. I mean, how often do you buy me a present? That’s right, never. Therefore, my reaction and appreciation will be a thousand times greater than his wussy little thank-you kiss. I’m easy to shop for. I like navy blue t-shirts (XL), stale cookies and ponies. I’m not a big fan of cologne, but I do enjoy those nice Mango candles from 7 Buttles. I also like velvet paintings, bobbing head statuettes and votive candles with religious figures on them. Or gnomes. Gnomes are cool. Just, please, no gift certificates. Nothing says “I don’t care about our love” like a gift certificate. If you’re still not convinced that buying something for me is the logical thing to do, then perhaps we should just spend a nice, quiet evening together. Not like that “Date With Debbie” contest, where the lucky winner gets to eat a bowl of oatmeal and watch an episode of Painting With Tali while debbie drinks himself into a Nordic stupor. This would just be a nice dinner that the two of us could enjoy, and that you would pay for. And who knows? If that goes well, maybe we’ll hit the Drexel for a foreign film that we just won’t understand, which you will also pay for. And then, well, the world is our oyster, my little BK Bitties. Emptying your little hearts and wallets onto me this Sweetest Day could lead to a Magellan-like discovery of pure romantic chemistry or really disappointing sex. Or it could lead to you going home to the man you truly love, and me going home to a 12-pack and some Camels. As in the cigarettes. Not the animal. Though either way, I walk home a winner.