Superman, Can You Read My Mind?: Ladies, if your man isn’t attentive and romantic the other 364 days of the year, don’t pitch a fit and cry and whine about what a loser he is if your Utopian fantasies don’t materialize today. Besides, if he did show up with roses and candy, you’d probably gripe that (a) the roses will die in four days, (b) the candy will make you fat and (c) he only did all of this because he knew you’d get mad if he didn’t. Unless he completely forgets, cut the guy some slack. Having said that…

Embrace Your Inner McDreamy: Men…know your woman. Pay attention. If you hear her say, “Honey…I really like these pajamas and they would make such a fabulous Valentine’s Day gift,” she has just provided you with a clue. Don’t miss it. Trust yourself…you know what makes her happy and if you don’t, well…that’s why God created Walgreens. Hop to it. There’s nothing that drives a woman more wild than a man who appears to give a damn about her thoughts and interests. Seriously. I wouldn’t steer you wrong on this. If you’re so lucky as to have a Kirsten Cohen who will go so far as to flag pages in the Victoria’s Secret catalog (”Did you get me the black with the beige trim, or the beige with the black trim?”), hold her close and never let her go.

None Of That Lover’s Lament Crap: There are infinitely worse things in life than being single on Valentine’s Day. I remember being single on Valentine’s Day, and the day is only as miserable as you make it. If you start out the day hating coupled people and hating Hallmark and hating Walgreens for having shoved the holiday down your throat since January 2…well sheesh…no wonder you’re single. Go out to dinner. Believe me, people aren’t staring at you. They think you’re amazing for having the courage to go out, because they themselves do not possess that courage. Watch American Idol. Give your doggie a smooch and send e-cards to all your friends.

Misty Watercolored Memories: Purge those ghosts of Valentine’s Days Past. I remember…eight years ago, my then-boyfriend had a dozen long-stemmed red roses delivered to me at work. The sentiment fell flat for multiple reasons, one of which being he used his mom’s credit card to order them. He also seemed to get more of a kick out of the attention he got for sending them (we worked together) than whether or not I actually liked them. The only enjoyable part of that day was going to Albertsons after dinner and watching all the misfit men in the Express Lane buying last-minute cards and candy for 75% off.

That is all. Off you go.