STRANGER THAN FICTION: VALENTINE'S DAY FOR THE LONELY HEARTS CLUB

My friend Penny sent me a Valentine's Day card. It is early, but holidays are her life.

The card is on my desk now. There is a little dog on the front with steam coming out of his ears. He is saying things like "This holiday sucks" and "It's just a time for all the love-stricken wimps to make the rest of us want to retch."

That little dog has a point, and it isn't often I attribute deep insights to animals that sniff each other.

Positioned next to Penny's card is one from The Roommate, which says it is made from recycled toilet paper. Thanks. Easy to see what kind of Valentine's Day we're having this year.

When you are in love, Valentine's is great. The little shiver of anticipation as you sit waiting for the florist's visit. The thrill of opening a mushy card with your man's deepest emotions right there in black and white. The romantic dinner for deux at la restaurante of your choice.

No one ever tells you that, the very next year, you may be sitting alone in another town wondering if your roommate's valentine really WAS made from used toilet paper. The flowers? Withered and dead. The mushy card? Torn into a million pieces after its sender accidentally called you "Jo." The dinner? Digested and forgotten.

Ex-Mr. Dreams was a lot of things, but he wasn't cheap. Actually, he is still alive, but I see nothing wrong with speaking of him as though he was trampled by elephants in a tragic Barnum & Bailey accident.

The first Valentine's Day together, he sent 12 red ones and took me out to dinner. The second, another 12 red ones and a handwritten poem professing his love for me. He wasn't cheap, but he wasn't a poet, either.

It is the thought that counts.

Ex-Mr. Dreams and I made a vow Valentine's Day 1994, that no matter what happened we would give each other a homemade valentine every year.

In retrospect, what a stoooooopid vow! Here we are, a year later, dating different people. OK, HE'S dating different people.

But a promise is a promise, so I'm asking you, the reading public, to propose a Valentine's Day message for Ex-Mr. Dreams. Please send your ideas to me in care of the Southeast Missourian.

I was thinking of something like, "You are a twit, you have no shame, my life just stinks, and you're to blame."

Actually, I might not be here when your ideas arrive, because I'm considering quitting my job and devoting my life to the pursuit of Brad Pitt.

Sure, it sounds like a stupid idea to you men, but anyone with a womb wouldn't think so. Just look at the cover of February's Vanity Fair magazine. What woman could resist that?

He's also on the cover of People magazine, voted the Sexiest Man Alive. The article said he was raised in Springfield, attended the University of Missouri-Columbia and moved to California.

According to my estimates, there is a distinct possibility that I (a) visited Springfield when he was living there, and (b) visited Columbia while he was attending college there. I may have passed him in McDonald's or the mall, an innocent child with no idea that the man before me, as my friend Steve would say, was "Pittalicious."

Heidi Pitt. I like the sound of that.

~Heidi Nieland is a member of the Southeast Missourian news staff.