Hunt Ethridge Dating Advice

Ode to Epic Fails of Valentine’s Days Past

Originally published on Betty Confidential

Oh boy it’s now here, this time come again.
V-day’s approaching and I felt I must pen
A note to my guys and to all men at large
To help you succeed and be all in charge.
Now I know for most men this day does get tough
Trying to figure how much is enough
To do for us ladies, us chicks and gals
Just try to avoid this most epic of FAILS!

This first guy of note was my high school crush Chad
Who unbeknownst to me was a terrible cad.
And while I loved the necklace of stars and hearts
Spying six others made with identical parts
Walking the halls of school the next day
Explained why at lunch your face hit my tray.

Freshman year at college was a boy named Bruce
Whose green flecked eyes, turned my way would induce
A wave of flutters, a blush and a stutter
And when asked on a date I could only just mutter.
“I love your curves,” that’s what you said.
But ruined it all, made my face turn beet red
When the DJ announced (in a huge deal breaker)
Our names, our song. You chose “Rump Shaker!?!”

Later in school was the artist guy Jak.
Who made me breathless when it came to the sack.
I knew he was broke but didn’t expect much
When V-day came and I told him as such.
But when the night passed with nary a call
It just made me feel ‘bout two inches tall.
The next day, walking campus I had a large shock
My name was spray painted across the whole block.
The gesture was fun but my heart stopped in terror.
With ex-hippie parents my name was quite rarer
Than anyone at school and he got expelled.
Shouldn’t have tagged the dean’s Toyota Tercel.

Onward I traveled to work in the city
And I met an ex-pat, a Brit we called Smitty.
He was fun and manly and handsome to boot
Though at times his taste was less than astute.
Hearing my name over the office P.A.
Made me all happy it being Valentine’s Day.
Arriving up front to a group all atwitter
I walked up hearing a few snicker and titter.
There was bag that had been knocked all asunder.
It was address to me, ‘twas my V-day plunder.
And spilled ‘cross the desk, for all eyes to behold
Was black leather, much lace, silk and snaps. Too bold!
I had to leave said job, that door was shut
When I found out my nickname was “Smitty’s sl….” *ahem*

Later in years was a gentleman Fabrice.
My wild days were gone and I was at peace.
Older he was, a true debonaire.
He had grace and power and even smiled with flair.
He made me feel pretty and had manners to boot.
His style impeccable in Italian gray suits.
I thought I had found him, my man, my prince,
Even teaching me his mom’s “tarte de quince.”
He was a touch old school that was my only qualm.
Other than that he was totally “Da bomb!”
And yet, dear readers, he managed to fail.
Making me in turn pale, wail and turn tail.
V-day again, I received box of blue.
“Tiffany” it read, as if I needed a clue.
Inside found I a necklace with a sparkling hue.
Later that night I found what that would turn in to.
When after much prodding I turned down his demands
He showed me the door. I ran out head in hands.

So dudes, gents and lads take note of this note.
On your fair lady I’m sure that you dote,
But remember these warnings and all take heed
You can still screw it up. Badly, indeed!
But with a little foresight I’m sure you’ll do well
And ne’er fail as bad as these stories I tell.
Make sure your decisions are fraught with no peril
And you’ll do great! Like my new husband Darryl!

Share This Article