Valentine's clearance candy counts as lunch, right?

Is there anybody in this entire world that likes the purple candy hearts in the boxes of Heartlines Conversation Hearts? You see, personally, I like the green, pink, and white ones, and I just pick through all the other ones that are gross and throw them away. Apparently nobody else has a love for compressed citric acid and powdered sugar like mine. I love it when I go to the store to buy my off brand Clorox wipes and Valentine's candy is fifty percent off. Twenty seven packages of Heartlines for only seventy six cents? Why yes, I would like to chew myself into a diabetic coma. But anyway, this isn't what today's ramblings are about. Today's ramblings are about the sad excuse for Valentine's Day that stumbled upon my bitter feelings for the holiday. Let me clarify why. You see, Christian was a gift buyer. He bought me shiny, expensive, sparkly things. I got rings and necklaces and bracelets and diamond studs. Chet. Not a gift buyer. In fact, if his Audi hadn't cost him so many loans he couldn't see past the paperwork, I don't think he'd even indulge me just because. He's a tight ass. While Christian's new FIANCE, yes, fiance, with a big ass, diamondy, sparkly ring is posting twitpics of her left hand, I'm busy plucking dead rose petals off my table as they fall. I hate roses.
So the night started out in a panic. The tickets to the concert I bought Chet were gone. I couldn't find them, or the very expensive lingerie that was in the bag along with them. To this day I can't find them. My dress wouldn't iron and my hair was limp, plus my favorite lipstick was gone. Muttering profanities under my breath while I shoved my feet into my Nina's and grabbed my dress coat, I yanked the cigars I purchased for Chet from my cabinet and ran out the door. We were going to be late to dinner, I forgot my ID, and I didn't want to go see the stupid chick flick our friends wanted to go see for Valentine's Day.
So I wheeled my car into Chet's lot just as my gas light turned on. Awesome. He met me outside to ask if I'd drive. Sure, Chet, I will drive to dinner, the traditional man job. So he drug me inside to meet our friends and a table full of flowers and cookies. Peanut butter blossom cookies and roses.
Let me tell you something about me. I hate peanut butter cookies, which Chet should know, and roses remind me of my dead aunt. I hate both of those things. But here is the kicker....
In the middle of the flowers was a piece of cardboard. "What's that for?" I asked cautiously.
"It's so you guys can split the flowers!" I'm not sure if my jaw or my heart dropped. I was pissed.
"Thanks. We're going to be late, let's go."
We get to the restaurant and sit down. All I really want is a real drink, not a water with lemon like I'm usually forced to drink. The waitress stepped up to our table. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Can I get a Sprite?" Chet's eyes burnt a hole through my forehead. "Actually, water. Extra lemons. Thanks."
I was exasperated. After struggling through a disgusting dinner at a restaurant I absolutely abhor, we made our way into the theater to watch a movie of genres that I also abhor. The movie sucked.
All I wanted was a damn cup of ice cream to numb the pissed off at the awful date that had been half-assed put together along with my HALF boquet of flowers. This, too, was a fight.
"Can we go to Graters?"
"For what? I made you cookies."
"Yeah, but I just want ice cream."
"Do you really need it?"
"Well it's just across the street and it is my car and my gas. And I'm hungry."
"We just ate."
"If that's what you want to call it."
"What's your problem?"
....At the phrase what's your problem, every cell in my body lysed. My heart started thumping and my hands started shaking.
My problem is that we went on a date to a restaurant I hate, we went to a movie I didn't want to see, I'm starving, I want a goddamn cup of ice cream, my feet hurt, I got half a boquet of flowers and you made me literally the only desert on the face of the earth that I absolutely hate. 
"Ice cream. NOW."
I won, ultimately, but not until I promised to pay for my own. :|
In accordance with the incredibly shitty night, something else had to go wrong.
I pulled out my carefully chosen gift for Chet. Three very very expensive cigars, hand rolled right in front of me.
"Oh. Cigars."
"You love to smoke a cigar," I remembered that he had a coat that smelled delicious  from the cigars he smoked when I first met him.
"No, not really. I don't even smoke. Why would you get me these?"
"You're welcome."
Sex was not had that night.
Or any night again, EVER.