Worst Valentine’s – Evah! by Vicki Batman

From Christina: Ah, yes, Valentine’s Day, a time for love and happiness, and sweet thoughts, and, uh, well, yeah, right. Sometimes it doesn’t happen like that. 

Worst Valentine’s Day – EVAH!

 by Vicki Batman

I know you are thinking no way. But this is a really true story.

Dear Jane


I was a single girl for a long while after college and dated all kinds of men. And sometimes, had a Valentine with a few. But one stands out as the worst EVAH.


The day was drizzly. I parked my sedan as close as I could to my front door and dashed through the raindrops to my apartment. As I drew closer, I saw something white stuck on the door. My brow narrowed. Once there, I removed a folded note with my name on it from the crack between the door and the framework. Hmmm. I opened it, and to my amazement, I found a Dear John/Jane letter from a guy I’d dated a few times.


I saw fire engine red. I wasn’t mad about not dating him anymore. I mean, who would be after getting a Dear Jane/John. No, I was pissed over getting this on Valentine’s Day. And if he did this to me, he’d do it again. I determined he needed a lesson.


So I phoned and phoned and phoned him. Every ten minutes. For over an hour. But he wasn’t home or didn’t answer. The coward.


A little later, my friend popped by. She took one look at me and said, “What’s wrong?”


I passed her the note.


She said, “I know what to do. Give me a match.”


My roomie handed her a match. The good friend moved to the fireplace, laid the note on the hearth, lit the match and set it to the paper’s edge. Then she began singing, “Feelings. Nothing more than…”


“Feelings,” my roommate and I added. We burst into giggles. The note became a pile of black scraps.


Fast forward to a few years ago… I sold a version of this story to the True Magazines, entitled “Valentine’s Day Misery.” And to this day, a part of me will always hope the Valentine’s Day moron learned a lesson from someone else.




16 thoughts on “Worst Valentine’s – Evah! by Vicki Batman

  1. Here’s the opening:

    “‘Wouldn’t you know it — ‘when it rains, it pours,’ and on Valentine’s Day. What a pisser.” Ragtag umbrella in hand, I slammed my car door shut and bolted for my apartment, bounding like an Olympic hurdler over the gully washer sluicing through the complex’s parking lot. Mucky splashes decorated the hem of the new silk dress I’d bought especially for… Well, just in case. A girl ought to be prepared, especially if a special someone — Cutie-pie, where are you? — would remember her today of all days.
    As I ran, my glance went to the sky showing no intention of letting up. The clouds, a nasty shade of dark gray, released another wave. Drops lashed my body. I picked up my pace. “You’d think somebody up there would make sure today was beautiful.”
    Drawing closer to my apartment, something different caught my eye. A white rectangle wedged in between the door and the frame. Interesting.
    I dropped the completely useless umbrella at my feet and tugged on an envelope inscribed with Katie Mackenzie in a manly print-scribble. A Valentine! Wonder who sent this? The guys upstairs? They loved to play practical jokes.
    Cutie-pie? Wouldn’t that be lover-ly.
    A secret admirer? That sounded delicious, but had no clue who that would be.
    Excitement churned inside me. I flipped the note from front to back as water slid beneath my collar. Now, my curiosity had unquestionably expanded. Opening it, I quickly scanned the doc.
    What the heck?
    For I held a “Dear John,” rather, “Dear Katie,” letter.
    Shocked at the contents, I barely sensed my handbag drop and plop in the silty puddle at my feet. I blinked multiple times before re-reading the note from Paul Smithson, a guy I’d dated maybe three “official” plus one “unofficial” (drinks only) times. He was nice enough, had a good job with a computer conglomerate, pretty smart, tall like a basketball player. Yet, three months ago when he’d pressured for sex, I’d pushed back, saying “too soon,” but thinking “no way, buster.”
    His response? The creep had the audacity to send me this letter, which detailed how he didn’t think “we were suited.”
    I wanted to scream. He had some nerve treating anybody like this! How dare he treat me like this!
    I didn’t care about Paul Smithson. We weren’t “suited.” But a real gentleman would have told me face-to-face or never called again. But noooo, the clown had to write a letter. A freakin’ “Dear John” letter and give it to me on Valentine’s Day. That was almost…un-American. Definitely, not nice. Who taught him manners?
    What a coward.
    What a creep.
    What a jerk.

  2. Oh Vicki … that was rich. And for anyone out there feeling rejected it was a good lesson. Burning up the note was a wonderful idea. And to ashes he went. Love that you pub’d his story and don’t worry … the universe has a strange way of balancing the books. He got his 🙂

  3. Pingback: A Valentine’s Day Double Feature | Time for Love

  4. Pingback: SHOWCASE: Author Vicki Batman | Time for Love

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