Despite my armour of post-modern, post-industrial, post-everything irony; despite the fact that I know, intellectually and emotionally, that it's a commercial crock of shit designed to boost sales of roses and soppy Hallmark greeting cards; despite the fact that I'm actually rather happy being single: I suspect I shall still have a twinge of angst tomorrow about not being in a relationship.
Cupid's a heartless bastard. I wish he was dead. Well, what do you know? He is! See?