OK, I'm at the last ice cube of my annual meltdown and if it weren't for the Westminster Dog Show, I don't know if I could coagulate on an annual basis. This year has been an especially rough Valentine's Day. I tried to stay afloat with some extra daytime flirting with the office Snack and by wearing a kitten-heel shoe, but as I left the office tonight, I felt as if I was suffocating. I saw couples with flowers, young lovers holding hands and men lined up for cheap diamonds at Macy's. A friend confessed that after her dinner with her new man, she was going to put on feather pasties and a g-string as a special treat for her Valentine. Todd even took Craig to Forbidden Broadway rather than record the podcast. Then, when I came home I received the phone call from the British man who disappeared over New Year's Eve. I wonder if his return was planned for today, but I was glad to hear his voice. Ex-boyfriends are popping up all over the place today and I came to the conclusion that Valentine's Day is really not a day about love and togetherness, but a day for single women to revisit their past mistakes and question if perhaps a dog or cat might just be a better companion. Perhaps it is a good sign that a Bull Terrier named Rufus just took Best in Show. The persistent underdog just might come out ahead!
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