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Valentine's Day: a huge f*** up, and not in a good way


OMG!!!! Why do I date such losers? My Valentine's Day date just didn't get it. No roses, no French Champagne, no hand-made chocolate, no oysters and he even turned up in an Uber. An Uber!!!!! WTF? He just doesn't get the point of the holiday. And he's weird. He calls himself a Sevillian.

It was the date from hell. Instead of picking me up in a town car, he turned up in an Uber. It was an old model Toyota. It wasn't even American. Then he told me he'd arranged an evening touring the city. We went to the gardens and watched the sun set over a display of sun flowers, then back in the car, we had a glass of cava and then we went to Griffith Park where he busted out a cooler and a mat and we sat on the ground eating tapas and drinking more of the cava. He said the city lights looked like a million stars. Then we got back in the car and we went to a tiny Spanish restaurant somewhere in the suburbs. He said it was special because it was real Spanish not Mexican. We had paella: it had mussels in it. I want my oysters!!!! Back in the car, the bottle of Cava gradually expired on the way to a late night dessert place. It was all cream and strawberries and.. there were no handmade chocolates.

He dropped me off at one minute to twelve, held both my hands, said he'd had a lovely time and hoped I had enjoyed the city as much as he does. Then he gave me a gift. It was a cherizo and manchego (whatever that is) sandwich for breakfast, he said, to remind me of my Spanish night out.

Horrible dates? That's totally Juan for the record books.

Bert says: I take it you are American, from somewhere like Los Angeles. All those capital letters, the excitability, the self-centred rant and the use of the term "French Champagne." Moron: all Champagne comes from France. Anything else either has its own regional or national name or is, simply, sparkling wine. Cava, you obviously don't know, is the Spanish equivalent of Champagne, made in the same way, but made a few hundred kilometres south. Oh, of course, you don't know what a kilometre is, do you and, even if you did, you'd get the spelling wrong. And he was joking and making a pun: using a made up word, Sevillian, because he's from Seville. It's in Spain. Although you probably think it's a Californian orange.

Let me make this clear to you, you self-centred, ignorant, ill-mannered, rude person. You went out with a Spanish guy who took you on a carefully planned tour to introduce you to his culture, and the things that he enjoys and that most women I've ever met would have thought was caring, thoughtful and terminally romantic.

You are part of a culture that says that Valentine's Day is a competitive sport, where you want to be able to tell your colleagues how much he spent and what big name restaurants he took you to, not because you enjoy those things but because you want to look big in other people's eyes.

That's an epic fail, to use the American vernacular. Your complaints make you look big: a big bitch. If you'd attached your photo and your name, I'd have happily posted it with the words "never date this horrible person" underneath it.

You deserve to be alone. If the universe, God or whatever else you believe in, apart from yourself, that is, can make that happen, then some balance will be restored to the world.

Gert says: I'm lost for words. You are a truly horrible person.

And Valentine's Day isn't a holiday, even if you say "St Valentine's Day," which of course you don't. It wasn't a f***ing horrible date. You're a f***wit.

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