By September

I have a confession. I am 24 years old, and I’ve never had a Valentine. Now, I could say it’s because I’ve turned down each of the hundreds of men fighting over me at my doorstep because of my stunning beauty and womanly wiles. But for the simple reason that I don’t believe in Valentine’s, but that would be a blatant lie. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ugly, at least I hope not. I have had my fair share of catcalls from construction workers when I wear my figure hugging (read ‘uncomfortably tight’) dress, and I have had my fair share of love letters from preschoolers and high schoolers alike. You know, the ones written in red, with a touch of perfume and totally irrelevant song dedications under the title ‘Dedix’.