No shoes, no shirt, no co-dependent life partner… no entry.

Have just been reading a Valentine’s Day diatribe by the always entertaining Fweng, who has decided that if February 14 is for lovers, January 21 is for the romantically dispossessed.

Yesterday I decided that the best antidote to Unvalentine’s Day would be to leave London, so I hopped on a train and am staying in Oxford for the weekend. It’s pretty, and old, and as Shezwa’s big brother articulately noted, full of t-shirt shops and ‘keep off the lawn’ signs.

Due to my general intolerance of spending too much time with people I’m not actually sleeping with, I usually don’t have a problem walking into a restaurant and dining alone (cue violins)… however, for some reason tonight I really struggled to find a place I felt I would be allowed into. Apparently the entire city of Oxford is filled with restaurants featuring nothing but tables for two, and tonight every one of them is occupied by sickeningly cute co-dependencies feeding each other forkfuls of salmon en croute. The sight of which is a more effective deterrent than if the proprietors had posted a sign in the window saying, ‘No Shoes, No Shirt, No Unhealthy Reliance on Another Human Being to Keep Your Sense of Self-Worth Alive and Burning… No Entry.’

(I’m not really this bitter. I just like to sound jaded and worldly sometimes, like I’m Nick Nolte or something.)

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3 responses to “No shoes, no shirt, no co-dependent life partner… no entry.

  1. Wow, quoted by a real journalist, colour me ecstatic. Jess, will you be my valentine?

  2. Nick Nolte! lol

  3. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit Stevie. Or so everyone keeps telling me on a daily basis. To which I usually respond, “Gee THANKS for sharing your thoughts, I REALLY appreciate your VALUABLE and REFRESHING perspective. No, really – thanks a LOT. For reals this time.”

    Nick Nolte… because I think ‘jaded’ and I picture that mugshot.

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