Even as a happily married woman, I cringe at the savage parade of canoodling couples under coconut palms - guaranteed to make your own relationship seem turgid by comparison - so how much harder must it be for those still negotiating the slopes of Unwedberg in stretch denims and stilettos with nary a Nordic walker in sight?
Just as you're on the verge of accepting that a romantic holiday is about as likely as a snow in Sasolburg this Christmas, you're hit with a mawkish onslaught of newly-weds clinking champagne glasses as the honeymoon hawkers lay on spreads of summer specials, but only per person sharing.
Worse, those touchy-feely sunset on the beach images all trigger the question: "What's he doing?"
He, of course, being the ubiquitous ex who left you for the pert-breasted bimbo who flaunts her belly ring from Rio to Reunion - all the places he never took you. Not once. Hell no, a week's timeshare in Warmbaths is all you ever got out of him.
That's why the Seychelles ad offering seven nights for the price of six, sticks in your craw. He's probably taking her there this month, especially since they're throwing in a spa treatment - "a private sunrise beach massage a deux with intoxicating essences of sweet orange, Jamaican ginger and lemongrass".
And free diving lessons. Well, he sure needs all the help he can get, but even so, the thought of them lolling about in their matching his-and-her hotel dressing gowns prior to a rubdown is too galling for speech.
Why can't emotional nomads stick to Nambia's Skeleton Coast?
Ah yes, if the leisure tour operators are to be believed, marriage is a powdery beach in Mauritius with room service and candle-lit dinners. Yet right over here are the newlyweds who - after just eight months - have couples counselling once a week.
His work keeps him at the office 24/7. She fills in the time with scrap-booking workshops.
She's artfully arranged the photos from their honeymoon in the Maldives, which is also about the last time she remembers any kind of passion between them.
That's okay, because she's not that into him physically, and probably never was, but she'll hang in a while longer. She needs the security and besides, they do love each other, sort of, maybe. You think?
Then there are all the old high school friends, hitched long before cellphones were invented.
They pay lip service to the joys of parenthood, but look permanently frazzled. There was a time they wanted to set the world alight. Now they're regular rate-paying Renault owners who think a day without the pool pump breaking is a good day.
Wistfully they wax nostalgic over more torrid episodes of yore, but not very often.
There's not much time for deep conversation these days.
Conjugal interludes are about as regular as the electricity bill, which is okay because they're too tired anyway. She spends most evenings watching Nip Tuck and maybe 10 minutes of the late movie before passing out. He fades even earlier, due to a galloping fondness for the bottle.
Could a four-day package tour to Victoria Falls revive the romance? Who knows? Maybe... if she doesn't push him over the edge first.
Being in each other's company all day, every day, can also lead to severe bouts of irritation - he wants to windsurf, she wants to shop - not to mention unflattering comparisons with an assortment of surfers, lifeguards and aerobics teachers, whose god-like proportions throw your own imperfections into detestable relief.
Romantic holidays? Bah! Humbug! Who needs them?
As for Mr Hurry and me, we'll be staying right here in Joburg over the festive break. I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. Except Monte Carlo, maybe ...