I don't think I know many romantic novelists who actually look forward to Valentine's Day. You get asked more stupid questions this time of year than any other, and you can't go ten feet without tripping over some Valentine's promo (apostrophe there? No? Who cares).
On this most unromantic of Hallmark holidays I tend to get pretty cranky anyway, and am never more than five minutes from a "How about demonstrating your love with something a little more personal and imaginative than some overpriced roses and tacky lingerie? If you really love each other, try demonstrating it on the other 364 days of the year. And don't do it in public, because if I hear one more public declaration of love today I'm going to vomit," type rant.
And hey, where's the Hallmark holiday celebrating all those people who've managed to get through another whole 365 days and nights without someone to go home to?
Dammit, I started ranting. Anyway, here's the actual point. Since I'm fed up with all the hearts-and-flowers crap infesting Facebook and everywhere else I go, here's an idea. Tell me your worst Valentines story. The best (well, worst) gets a prize: a PDF download of my super-sexy new release, After The Fall, in which my heroine has suffered seven years of marriage to a Neo-Puritan, who considers any display of affection, public or not, to be vaguely obscene.
You have until, ooh, let's say Thursday, which is when I should be getting my author copies! Leave your stories in the Comments (and if it's really bad, you can always log on anonymously!).
Have an unromantic day.