Are you among the world’s best lovers? OnePoll.com conducted a poll of 15,000 women from 20 countries asking them to rate nations on the ability of their men in bed and to give reasons for their answers. Who are the world’s worst lovers? Results of the poll showed that the German men are the worst, because they are “too smelly.”

The world’s best lovers are the Spanish men.

American men are considered worst too — being too rough in bed! Do you agree with the poll results?

Who wants a date on Valentine’s Day? No, I do not want one. No need to beat around the bush, I abhor the day. When St. Valentine sent the first ‘Valentine’ greeting ‘From your Valentine’ during the third century, I have this idea he wasn’t after for an intimate love. Go google it. The greeting was for the daughter of a prison guard who constantly visited him in his prison cell after he was caught for not obeying or supporting the Emperor’s law on marriages. On the day he was sentenced to death, he left the note thanking the girl for friendship and loyalty.

The note was about friendship. Valentine was a good priest and I deem he cannot allow himself to fall in love with a girl and abandon his holy vows. He was after for friendship alone.

It is not just a plain story of one being out of town. Or not seen for a week. Maricel is in the Philippines. Peter is in a place hundreds of miles away. They haven’t seen each other for over a year now.

I have always questioned the efficiency and value of a long-distance relationship. Even before I experienced it myself way back, I knew, with sorts of things that could almost certainly play inside your mind, it would never work. Think of the pain that it might create in you and your partner in all variety of ways. Communication is the essential ingredient in the love concoction and being a great distance apart could injure the bond.

What’s wrong with him? What’s with that slight cacophony in the way he moves nowadays? Every day, he senses a lovey-dovey cadence of delight he only felt in the comfort of a swing in the backyard back home.

He is the composed gentleman. He is acutely aware that he is, at this moment, engaging in a world he never existed in so well. As you are about to read, he is on his way to dipping his toes into the relationship puddle after a significant bout of solitude.

It’s all because of Miss Eve. His heart has been lying dead for the past months. He could describe it as an organ that had lost its joie de vivre, the strength to possess that capacity to love. Yet, here comes Eve, pricks it with her smile and intoxicating giggles and a hip that sways to a rhythm she alone can create, and, without further elucidation, his heart realizes that there is life after death.