Duckie St Valentine’s Day Ball at the BAC

I hate Valentine’s Day.  Really, if I am a grinch of any sort of holiday, it would be this one.  Doesn’t matter if I am single or in a relationship, I always viewed St Valentine’s Day with narrowed eyes.  The commercials for jewellery, the pressure to spend more money on gifts when you’re still dealing with Christmas credit debt, the profusion of low-quality chocolate, the stupid stuffed animals with plushy hearts saying “I WUV U”–which irritates me more because I hate stupid shortening of words only three or four letters long.  Seriously, Valentine’s Day gets a punch in the face.  It’s a sham of a holiday centered around the gross consumerism of items pressuring conformity in the complex realm of emotions.

Couple the annoyance of Valentine’s Day with the status of being single, and in a big city you haven’t lived in for that long (although it will be five months… tomorrow!)… yeah, wasn’t expecting much for Valentine’s Day.  And what’s there to expect?  Stressed-out couples who can’t get the reservation they wanted, mopey singles boozing it up at the bar?  Ooooh, yeah, no.

Until I was in First Out earlier this week and saw a flyer for THIS!!

St Valentine's Day Ball at the BAC

What?!  Queers and old dears?  Heteros and hipsters?  Lovers and loners?  Those people sound awesome!  And what an elegantly-designed flyer as well.  Love the font.  How elegant the women look!  Actually, one of them looks like my friend Aru.  How funny.

Anyway, oh fantastic and fortuitous flyer, tell me more about this magic land of Variety and Valentines!

Details on the ball£10?  Hmm… a little pricey, but there’s a dinner buffet included?  Why, in that case, that isn’t expensive at all!  With some interesting acts performed by individuals with interesting names, such as The Sugar Dancers and Miss High Leg Kick?  Superb!  And there’s a DJ called Mr Wonderful?  Why, he sounds… wonderful!

Sorry, couldn’t help myself there.

But no, really, this event, held at the Grand Hall of the Battersea Arts Centre, sounds like a really swell event.  Better than the alternative of sitting in my flat with a six-pack or a bottle of cava, or even better than commiserating with other singlies at the pub or at someone’s house, which was another likely scenario.  Or, the more likely situation of studying and doing the readings for my classes.

Which would be really, really pitiful.

Nope, I’m going to the ball!  I’ve paid my £10 and gotten an e-receipt in my e-mail’s inbox, assuring that I may pick up my ticket within the certain perimeters of when the box office is open.  I hope to see a good share of queers and old dears, lovers and loners and so forth there, and I hope the buffet will be nice.  Am I going to hope for a Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet at the ball?  Hardly.  I’ll settle for a Prince or Princess Nice To Talk To, thank you.  At least I know there’ll be a Mr Wonderful.

And do you know how fun it is to say I’m going to a ball?  I feel all Cinderella-y.

Now I have something far more exciting to do rather than wait for all the Valentine’s Day chocolate to go on sale.


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