My Many Valentines 

This Series of posts was a result of random musings that occurred while writing an exam. Theme-ing it in accordance with the supposedly-romantic celebrations the coming week. 

“How’s your boy?”

“He is no longer mine.”

And that was that.


I cleaned up my souvenir box last week. It was about time I made room for the new Valentines.


“Sucks being a chick. We gotta look pretty all the time.”


“For girls like us, he has to be above twenty-eight.”

“At this rate I wouldn’t even mind getting married to a divorced guy much much older.”

“Divorcees are pretty ‘good’ I’ve heard.”


As I counted my change, he came behind me and said, “King lights. Classic mild.”


“He is thirty-something! He should be the older, more-mature one.”

“Trust me. He never was.”

“Sigh. I have lost all hope in men-kind. Maybe I should attempt to rediscover the bisexual in me.”



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