You know what? This February, during the month for love, there will be no gifts, no cards – nothing. Not to a woman from me.

To hell with this “love” thing. There is more to love than women, you know. Like High-Def televisions. Maybe next week I will buy an 80” plasma and send a thank you note to the former loves in my life. I love High Def. Till death do we part.

Maybe I will take a trip alone to Vegas. Yeh. Vegas. The women in Vegas love me. They have to. I pay them to. And I love them. I have to. I pay them. For the night anyway.

Maybe I will do the town on Valentine's Day. Make a reservation for one at the most romantic eatery. Then sit there, alone and pitiful-like, and make uncomfortable all the babes who are suckering their chump boyfriends and husbands into an expensive pig-out.

Maybe I will go shopping for a diamond at the local jeweler. Tie up the guy's entire evening, telling him that I want only the finest for the special girl I plan to marry and that money is no object. Then, while at the cash register, admit that I left my wallet on the night stand of a woman I met last night.

When the ex-wife left, I turned up all the toilet seats. This Valentine's Day, I believe I will unbolt the damn things and use them as picture frames.

The possibilities are endless for a single man intent on giving to himself all the gifts and fun and joy and pleasure that could have been shared with a lost love.

You're missing me now, aren't you, babes?

Some Lunar Reports are being published as short stories on a website called, "The Vandal."  Click HERE to visit The Vandal!

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