Yesterday being Valentine’s Day I took the opportunity to send messages of love and appreciation to my closest friends and family. Just like in all other instances this group of people that I’ve grown to rely on reciprocated the love and appreciation; and this demonstration kept my head above water on an otherwise lonesome day …

Any other day my phone is blowing up with fellas wanting to take me out on dates and another handful that have moved on from trying to woo me and very blatantly arrange bootycalls. I embrace all the variations of relationships with men that I have and for that reason I was shocked that yesterday my phone was completely silent. When I finally decided to quit waiting around and texted a few of my favorite dudes … Even my slutty inviting text messages garnered lackluster — or zero — responses! One guy waited until the whole holiday was over to respond and today, Feb. 15, wants me to come over! Ha!

I know V-Day puts a lot of pressure on men. They have to worry about gift-giving or planning a special evening. Not only that but they must worry about how it may be interpreted as an indication of what a relationship is or where it’s going. I’m assuming these otherwise chivalrous (pfft… sarcasm!) men would have loved to spend time with me but didn’t want to give me the impression that — God forbid — they might have some emotional investment in our relationship.

I can understand why men would rather hide on V-Day. It’s a tad shady and will definitely get you NOT laid on Feb. 15 but I guess I can appreciate the “honesty.”

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When you break up with someone, there often are leftover artifacts that unbearably remind you of the happier times of the relationship. Some common items:

• the blanket you cuddled under on cold days
• the giant sweatshirt you wore on fat days
• the pillow you used to prop up your hips on sex days

My breakup wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t soul scarring, and it certainly wasn’t an event that left either of us crying alone in a corner humming “our song” and burning old photos. So when I see various objects around the house that remind me of my former love, I feel perfectly fine.

But I’ve realized there’s one item that hits a nerve, and not in a good way. It’s my big blue dildo.

Let me explain.

When he and I first got together, it was after a tight two-year friendship and we were as close as you could get to being gf/bf minus the sex. So when we found our first summer as a couple was to be spent 3,000 miles apart (him in L.A., me in NYC) we were bummed.

A few weeks into my big-city summer, I found myself wandering the Lower East Side and into a store called Babes in Toyland (now known simply as Babeland). This was my first introduction to the world of sex toys.

I was inspired to find a dildo that resembled the shape of my beau’s tool. That led me to Dino (manufacturer’s name, not mine), a solid silicone item made to last forever.

Dino went from the summer’s boyfriend replacement to a regular fixture in our bedroom for years following his purchase.

SIDENOTE: Dildos are great with oral sex. Start practicing, guys, she’ll think you’re a god.

Dino still sits in my toy chest today, as solid and blue as the day I bought him. He has roommates now — pink ones, wood ones, curvy ones — but despite his foolproof ability, I’ve consciously bypassed his little velvet pouch.

Partly because of Dino’s physical likeness to my former beau, and partly due to the slew of wonderful memories he triggers.

But I think the most painful is the realization that this dildo, made to withstand years of use and abuse, will always be there. It won’t deteriorate over time. It won’t crumble or dissolve, and it’ll always make me feel good. It guarantees everything that a relationship can’t.

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