Finally, A Valentine To Call My Own
As a result of today being Valentine’s Day and numerous reports about a so-called “Broken Heart Syndrome”, which demonstrated that sudden changes in mood as a result of being dumped by your significant other can actually kill you, I thought I’d write a Valentine’s Day love note to that special person in my life and avoid the chance of giving her broken heart syndrome. I think over the last year or so I’ve been just a wee bit harsh to this special someone sometimes. I mock her, I laugh at her. Most of the time I wish she would just crawl in a hole and die a miserable and painful death. Who is this mystery woman I speak of? No, not a real lovely lady to call my own (sigh…ok stop feeling sorry for myself…now!). No, not the plastic Natalie Portman Queen Amidala doll my college roommate got for me (Best. Hanukah gift. Ever.) that has taken enough loving for a lifetime. Today, Valentine’s Day, I would write a letter of love to the tasty bitch that has been with me for the last year and a half, otherwise known as
Hey baby. Can I call you
Look, I just want to say a few things, and I understand if you never speak to me again after the way I’ve been treating you. I know I’ve been harsh. Sometimes the words I say must hurt. Like the time you just had to show off your French speaking ability on our first date and it made me feel like an idiot (which admittedly is not that hard to do). Or the four hundred times you wouldn’t stop asking pointless and off-topic questions that totally ruined the flow of lecture. Or even that time you showed up to one of our dates drenched in sweat and still in your gym clothes, having just run what must have been a marathon, and you not only did not even have the decency to take a fucking shower but you also decided it’d be alright to snuggle up next to me and drip your sweat all over my notes and smell so awf - oh, there I go again. Sorry beautiful.
See, it’s not that I don’t love you. I really do. I love the way you give me something to do between the hours of besides sitting on my ass watching reruns of Saved By The Bell. I love the way you let me get away with half-assing just about anything and everything and still let me pass. I love the way you introduced me to some of my medschool friends – well, actually baby, I’m pretty sure they hate you as much (if not more) than I do – but that’s beside the point. I love the way you provide me with enough unintentional comedy to last a lifetime, all at your expense, of course. I even love the way you annoy the living shit out of me, because after all, without that, what the hell would I be writing about all the time?
Maybe a poem expressing my love will work better…
A Love Poem To Medschool
A Love Poem To Medschool
Oh, medschool, how I love thee.
Let me count the ways:
One, for the one time in about 300 lectures nobody asked a question for a solid two hours.
Two, for the two ridiculously amazing legs on a certain cardiologist.
Three, for the three fingers you taught me were necessary to do “The Shocker”.
Four, for the total slooter in charge of block 4 and her totally inappropriate attire.
Five, for the five…umm…fuck, I can’t think of anything. Couldn’t even get to five. Damn you.
Well anyways, baby, maybe you and me can work it out. Be together again. Live a long life of love and happiness. I hope so, because without you…well…I just don’t know what the hell I’d do with myself.
P.S. Christ you smell, take a fucking shower already.