Ordinarily, February 14th is The Day Of Bitter Complaining, here at Honey & Ollie. There’s usually a pithy post about how much Valentines Day feels like a sucking chest wound, complete with references to crazy cat lady-ness. The crazy cat lady thing is not news, it’s weather and it’s definitely year-round. Well, my dears, I hate to say it, but I have nothing to complain about today. There is no ranty panty crankypants manifesto this year. I’m sorry. I know some of you actually kind of look forward to the annual rage-fest.
Do not get me wrong. I am totally aware of the fact that if it were not for my sweet, wholehearted relationship with Mon Capitan, I’d be sucking down ice cream and typing angry words about the Hallmark industry right now.
We decided to pretty much just ignore the whole thing, which is a sort of relief. NO pressure, though I will say that secretly, I want a Valentine’s Day Velociraptor. Candy hearts, roses and jewelry are so totally last year. Do not go to Jared. Modern girls know that nothing says “love” like opening a velvet box and finding a pissed off lizard who wants to eat your face. Or perhaps a dozen. Alas, extinction… no velociraptor for me.
I think I’m gonna go have some ice cream with the cats now… some traditions are sacred. We’ll just leave out the manifesto.