Aw, look. Someone gave me flowers! And he wasn’t even trying to make up for something he’d done wrong (which is good because flowers wouldn’t have helped). It was a lovely gesture that I promptly rewarded with my own special brand of
So what happened was, this poor sap surprised me with a bouquet of fresh roses on his way to work and you could tell by the look on his face he was pretty pleased with himself.
“Flowers? How sweet!” I said. “What’s this all about?”
“No reason,” he said, beaming.
His smile began to twitch under the strain. “No, no reason. Is that a problem?”
“It’s not a problem, it’s just not like you. Let me get a vase.”
He watched as I arranged them, and then we both stood back and admired them.
“So you like them?” he asked. (Jesus, I thought, he’s really making me work for these things.)
“They’re gorgeous,” I said.
“I’m not a huge fan of roses myself,” he said.
“Yeah, they’re not my favourite,” I agreed.
“They’re too perfumey. And the thorns!”’
“I know!” I held out my finger. “They drew blood!”
“I wasn’t sure what colour to get …”
“Red is nice. Or pink.”
“But not yellow?”
“Well it’s very bright and cheery. It’s just …”
“You hate the colour. Just say it.”
“No I don’t hate it, I just don’t generally like yellow flowers. Or orange ones, either, for future reference.”
He had the decency not to shriek “THERE’S NOT GOING TO BE A FUTURE YOU UNGRATEFUL WITCH!” but he did pout, which is never a good look nor is it conducive to healthy discussions.
“Maybe you should tell me the colours you DO like,” he said, in what was coming perilously close to cheekiness, in my opinion. But he did spontaneously bring me flowers, so I let it go. This time.
“Um, well to be honest, I’m not crazy about flowers in general. They don’t last long and they drop petals all over the place and the water gets funky … chocolate is probably a better way to go.”
“Yes, but only dark chocolate. Milk chocolate is gross. And of course, wine is always appropriate.”
“Should I be writing this down?” he asked, and there was no mistaking the cheekiness now.
“No, you should bend over so I can tattoo it on your arse,” I said. But not out loud. C'mon. I'm not that much of a bitch.
“You don’t have to get huffy," is what I really said. "I was just trying to be helpful."
“Well I was just trying to be sweet and look where that got me.”
"Oh for God's sake," I huffed. "I told you I liked the damn things, can't we just drop it?"
"Fine! We're dropping it. I gotta go, I'm going to be late for work."
"Fine, go," I said to his retreating back. "Have a nice day AND THANK YOU FOR THE PRICKLY STINKY YELLOW FLOWERS!"
I know. Sometimes I actually think I need professional help.
EDITOR'S NOTE: I'm pretty sure you're never getting flowers from anyone ever again until you die. And then you're getting yellow roses. A whole roomfull of them.
MY NOTE: Fortunately I plan to make sure you die before I do, so that little plan of yours won't work. But go ahead and cling to it if it cheers you.