People in happily committed relationships may skip this section and go back to knitting scarves and listening to the "Love Actually" soundtrack. Or whatever the hell it is those people do.

So you saw Avatar together, and made out behind that 7-11, but it's really nothing- Oh God, she found your office. And she's carrying flowers, a box of chocolates, and a fuzzy sea otter with your name on it. At least the thank you note you scrawl on a Starbucks napkin will prove you're a quirky slacker who's not looking to get serious, but doesn't want sex completely off the table. It will, right?

You don't really talk per se, but there's definitely an unspoken Jim/Pam thing going on. Luckily, your gift of flowers, chocolates and a plush sea otter with your name on it will finally crack all that seething romantic tension wide open. A few awkward sentences later, you quickly downgrade from "crack tension" to "explain you're not the guy who delivers her mail everyday." You should have kept the damn chocolates.

Damnit, you're the non-committal loner. It takes half the fun out of it when she also feels she could do better. Still, since basic algebra dictates that apathetic sex > zero sex, you let her know (via text message, anyway) that nothing should keep you apart on this special day. ("Nothing" = An above-average 30 Rock, her meeting someone with better abs then you, eating a burrito, forgetfulness, either of you not getting drunk enough to go through with it.)

She shows she loves you by sending a tin of homemade cookies. She shows she cares by hiding a six-month gift certificate to at the bottom. You show your love with a phone call, telling her how funny it was when your roommates found that gift certificate before you did. You show you care by extending your secret plan to deprive her of grandchildren for another five years. 

When does break-up sex stop? It's been months, but you're not about to give up your one reliable source for fuck-the-world, no-strings-attached, love-is-dead boot knockin'. (You compare it to sex in a burning building with a panther that hates the way you dress.) At least, it was always reliable, until it met a doctor who didn't major in Star Wars trivia. Now it just wants its Blu-ray player back.

Four beers plus one mass text message wishing you (and everyone else in her Blackberry) a happy Valentine's Day, and suddenly you're on the phone, reminding her of that time in 7th grade you played MASH together. That was fun, right? So who the fuck is that tall, handsome guy in all her Facebook photos? Sure, you see her relationship status, but six months ago she was married to Boston Market's Macaroni and Cheese. How the hell are you supposed to know it's for real this time?

Sometimes, you decide, Valentine's Day puts too much emphasis on love and not enough on high-speed Internet access. Whether it's obviously Photoshopped celebrity nudity or your disturbingly sexualized mythical creature of choice, she's there for you, faithful, giving, non-judgmental. Reward her with your undivided attention for the rest of the evening, or until you find someone cute on Facebook chat. Oh, crap. Who the hell showed your Mom Facebook chat?