It's no different year, after year, after year. The weary sigh in defeat--they know they won't get any flowers, just like last year; the cynical roll their eyes in (feigned) disgust; the blase (haha) shrug their shoulders; and the young--oh, the young--shiver in anticipation (ugh), starry-eyed, ignorant. Foolish.

You probably know what i'm talking about, yadda, yadda, yadda.