People expect me, Mr. Cook To Bang, to turbo-load every sentence with perverse food metaphors. That’s my bread and butter and I promise the tomfoolery will return after these messages.

But not now. I write this from a jaded, dare I say, broken-hearted perspective.

To be brief, I put my player instincts on ice when I met a girl who seemed perfect. She is smart, motivated, and model-hot (literally used to bikini model). Other girls’ phone numbers were purged from my phone. My friends stopped hearing from me and assumed I fell into her vagina. I broke every dating rule about being aloof, emotionally unavailable, and a total bastard. And then she dumped me via text message on February 14th. Valentine’s Doomsday. WTF?

Inconsiderate? Yes. Harsh? Indeed. Classless? Most definitely. I won’t bore you with a diatribe about how text messages derail adult communications. I’m not blaming Steve Jobs and his iPhone. No. My middle finger is held high in the air at the Hallmark Corporation. They created a holiday intended to make a select few happy, leaving the rest of us to eat cake frosting alone in the dark.

Expectations are high and insecurities higher. Valentine’s Day is a benchmark that can make or break a relationship. The strong ones get stronger over swanky meals and flowers that leave your wallet empty. But relationships not minted with the Standard & Poor’s AAA rating often go tits up come Valentine’s Doomsday.

I’ve known this for years. As a longtime ruthless womanizer, I made a point to vanish on Valentine’s Day. Plenty of my easy-peasy flings went down in awkward flames that day one wondered aloud: “What does it all mean?”

Come mid-February, relationships built on a fragile foundation of alcohol and lust often crumble. So my M.O. was to be out of town, perhaps “visiting my ailing grandmother in Arizona.”

My grandmother is doing fine. Thanks for your concern. This year, I told her, “No, Grandma. I’m not like those queers you hung out with in New York in the 50’s. I have a girlfriend. And tonight I’m going to treat her like a lady.”

So like a sucker M.C. I was in town this year to celebrate Valentine’s Day with my lady. I shopped for the Cook To Bang classic MISO HORNY COD, the first meal I served her that made her mine. She had declared it “the best fish I’ve ever tasted.” It seemed apropos.

But en route to her place with groceries in hand I got the text heard round the world. All those sappy love songs I once mocked echoed through my sad sack of shit brain. I transformed into the nice guy finishing last from the latest Katherine Heigel rom-com schlock-buster.

There was no happy ending. I did not end up with the girl. I went home and made a romantic meal for one. Time to light the funeral pyre and say good night, right after you whisper to no one, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

So what is my takeaway? Fuck Valentine’s Day and fuck the Hallmark Corporation. You’re not a bad boyfriend or girlfriend if February 14th doesn’t end with a diamond tennis bracelet and triple digit dinner bill from Chez Douche. We don’t need millions of tons of chocolate and roses grown in Colombian sweatshop greenhouses.

If you really love someone, treat every day like Valentine’s Day.

Don’t worry about me. I am devolving back to ruthless player mode. The tragedy is that I’m feeling jaded now so any possible love prospects will be treated like booty calls.

The cycle begins anew.

Spencer Walker is the author of COOK TO BANG. Visit his website HERE. This piece originally published 2 years ago, after which he decided to start anew in NYC.