Valentines Day…is Shit

So I met Mr R for breakfast in Potts Point
Which turned into a private salsa dance lesson in Surry Hills.
Screen Shot 2014-02-13 at 4.31.44 PM
And then somewhere between the cuban basic and the dile que no I realised that all of this was just Mr R’s way of buttering me up to tell me that he was going overseas again.
“Where?” I scoffed as the instructor walked over to the CD player to restart the track.
“Costa Rica” he replied sheepishly pretending to adjust his arm in the mirror.
“And whenever you’re ready” said the instructor somehow sensing the tension in the room.
He pulled me towards him, a look of distress growing rapidly on his face. I couldn’t tell what was bothering him more, trying to stay in time with the music or me.
With ten years of dance experience under my belt I was able to put all of my focus into showing him how pissed off I was.
back middle, forward middle, back middle, forward middle. Like the true Aires I am, I soon grew impatient and attempted to steer him into one of those cross the body moves.
and like the true man he is, immediately after I changed direction he fucked up.
“Paige you need to stop trying to lead” the instructor sighed.
“He will take you into the dile que no when he is ready”.
“What does dear-le-care-no mean anyway?” I pouted.
“Tell her no” said the instructor giving Mr R a look as if to say mate you need to keep your bitch under control in my studio.
The instructor walked back across the room to restart the music and I took a step closer to Mr R who was trying his hardest not to look at me (which is fairly easy when you’re 6 ft 6).
I dug my chorus shoes into the floor and wrapped my arms around him.
“Did you hear that lover” I whispered
“dile que no is what you do when one of those hot Costa Rican babes come up to you and ask if you would be interested in some hot local sex.”
He laughed. But we both knew that I wasn’t joking.
And that is the story of how Mr R left me for Costa Rica the day before Valentines Day.
That is a picture of the roses I received last V-day, a gesture of love that I certainly won’t be getting this year.
Any girl who says she doesn’t care about Valentines Day is lying. In fact I’m fairly sure that V-day was invented just to make life harder for single girls. You can’t go out of the house without seeing big red hearts plastered over shop front windows and its near impossible to get a dinner reservation on the 14th of Feb let alone a brazilian bloody wax a week leading up to the nonevent.
Ok so I was mega hating on Valentines Day that was until I found a way to make this Valentines Day as painless as possible.
Yep a Tinder party, genius!
The perfect antidote to a seedy love ridden day – a beachy Bondi bar full of sweaty single men.
And then as I was retrieving my credit card from my wallet (to purchase a sexy V-day dress of course) I realised that my licence was missing.
For three hours I turned The Dirthouse upside down in hope that the piece of plastic with my mugshot would reveal itself.
Gone. My only form of photo ID.
Even though I’m well over the legal age I knew that there was no way I was going to be let into Bucket List without it. Even Bill gets asked and he’s a middle aged dad who has lived in Bondi for 20 years.
So that was that.
The girls were going to go to the Tinder party and I was going to be forced to stay home alone on undoutably the worst day of the year.
I don’t know how long I flailed on the couch for, long enough to make my eyes swell up to the size of golf balls. Suddenly the sound of my phone ringing cut through the wall of pain.
“Hello” I answered without identifying the number
“Well, well, well look who finally answers her phone” said the all too familiar voice.
Fuck. My ex. The reason why I steer clear of Waterloo Coles, don’t eat mandarines and am allergic to Scorpio men. The only man who I have ever truly loved and the only man who can cause me more pain than an episode of Deal or No Deal.
“What do you want?” I accidentally let out a throaty sob – not attractive.
“What’s wrong with you?” He questioned immediately.
“Lost my fucking ID, left my passport in Noosa and will now be forced to spend Valentines Day alone in my piece of shit house.” as you can tell i’m never one to hold anything back.
“When’s Valentines Day?” He asked in true sociopath style.
“I’m going” I threatened miserably.
“Ok, Look. Let me take you out to dinner we’ll go wherever you want.”
I paused for a very long moment.
“Where ever I want?”.
And that is the story of how I agreed to spend tomorrow aka Valentines Day aka the day of love with the man I hate most in the whole world.
Happy Valentines Day to all my lovely ladies.
The Tinder party is open to anyone with the app.
And please all my single girls with legitimate photo ID go forth and grind on many men on my behalf. Unless of course you are a single girl spending V-day in Costa Rica and in that case the tall, uncoordinated man is mine.
Until next time.
Miss P
About me

Heaven on Bourke is a lifestyle blog created by Miss P, a twenty-something author of a Pleasure Guide pamphlet most commonly found in luxe vibrator boxes. True story! She loves to travel between her beachy hometown of Noosa and London's upmarket Notting Hill, where she writes a smut column for a lingerie empire. Off duty, Miss P brunches in the city and dates many interesting characters. All findings on real life, sex and love are recorded in this honest lifestyle blog for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy gorgeous!


Laura Kelly
Reply February 14, 2014

Haha. Hilarious. I love you! Having the exact same V Day, minus the missing ID. Great read.
Happy Valentines Day x

    Paige Bourke
    Reply February 14, 2014

    Thanks Gorgeous! If I had my I.D I'd gladly meet you for a drink...or ten tonight. Have an amazing Valentines Day xoxo

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *