A few years ago, my mom sent me some cookies for Valentine’s Day. They were from Cheryl & Co. and came in these glossy red boxes, each box embossed with a gold letter to spell out L-O-V-E. My parents are kick-ass valentines.
Like any good single girl on Valentine’s Day, I promptly took the cookies over to my friend Mark’s house and we proceeded to drink about a gallon of wine, eat every single cookie (they were delicious) and watch men’s figure skating on TV for hours (delicious and hilarious). It didn’t take long to rearrange the letters of those glossy red boxes and guess what? V-O-L-E was born. Mark still has the boxes.
I know Valentine’s Day belongs to couples but Vole belongs to the rest of us. I also know that as a blogger I am in quite possibly the slimmest majority of singles ever (The number of single bloggers in my arsenal can fit on one hand. I think I need to branch out more). IRREGARDLESS, I would like to wish all my fellow singles a very, very Happy Vole this year. I suggest you find yourself a couple of gay boys and fun-loving (re: not bitter) girlfriends, a pound of discount Whitman Samplers, your body weight in Charles Shaw and celebrate the day as St. Vole intended.
And in case anyone dares shove a red rose in your face and asks you where your Valentine is this year, tell them the truth.
Tell them that John Cusack ruined you for all mortal men. The End.