Happy Valentine's Day.

I was surprised this morning by V presenting me with a dozen roses and a card which was extremely "us" in nature, plus two tickets to see a show. Sadly, the lovey-dovey ended there. I spent the day cleaning the house. He spent it playing video games and complaining of a headache.

Late afternoon, I announced that I was heading to the bedroom to play with a rather extraordinary new toy, and did he want to come with me. He stopped play for a second to look up at me, remote control in hand, with a smile at half-cock and exaggerated sleepy eyes. And unpaused the game.

"I guess that's a no, then."

Quite literally, go fuck yourself. And I did, loudly and vigorously, and in front of a mirror.

Round two, ding ding. I wandered back into the living room in just my T-shirt, to debrief him on the performance of my new plaything. Perhaps sir would be interested in a demo?

No, sir would not be interested in a demo, even if the demo is a visibly aroused, wet and slippery young lady, hard nipples poking through her T-shirt, sliding a large buzzing dildo into her cunt right in front of him. See how much I can take, sir? Sorry, sir, I can see now that you're busy. With Mario Kart.

I give up, I honestly do. Except clearly I don't, because I like sticking rusty pins into the rotten cabbage of my self-esteem.

So Valentine's Day and the ensuing evening passed much as most Saturdays do, and it was fucking boring and depressing and not at all romantic, and I had another good cry, though not entirely for the state of our relationship. Ho hum. Yeah, it's probably just the intensifying ray of Valentine's Day thowing a spotlight on the shitty, but today has really bummed me out. Hope springs eternal. I promise to endeavour to make tomorrow better. Maybe even he will too.