I’m turning into my mother. Growing up, a guaranteed way to put a delighted smile on my mother’s face was by getting her flowers. Any flowers. Roses, dandelions (as long as the giver was under the age of 5), lilies, tulips, carnations… Any flowers, one or more, would make her exclaim, “Oh! Flowers! How lovely! I just love flowers, they make me so happy!”
Every. Single. Time.
By the time I was six, I knew all about putting flowers into water, how to cut the stems to make the flowers last longer, how much sunlight they needed, which vase was aesthetically best suited to every type of bouquet. (Small irony: I don’t have a green thumb. Give me a potted plant and it is reasonably certain that I will kill it in under a week, despite my best intentions.)
I always found my mother’s enjoyment of flowers cute, if somewhat excessive. She especially loved getting flowers for no reason.
Friday, as I was coming home from work, after a shitty week – the kind that gave me lots to think about and little to smile about – I stopped in the grocery store to get myself some supper. As I waited in line, I noticed the flower stand. One particular vase stood out at me, so pretty and simple in its happiness. I decided to buy it, just like my mama. Unlike my mama, seeing as I am a product of the social media generation, I took a snap of my flowers, and posted it on Facebook, with some cliché hashtags like #treatyoself #teamsingle #simplepleasures. Yeah, I know, slightly obnoxious, but even a fierce Amazon needs external validation that her singleness is ok, from time to time.Yesterday, I went for brunch with one of my single guy friends. As I got into the car, he surprised me with a single red rose, telling me I was too young to be a cat-lady, that I shouldn’t have to buy my own flowers, even if I broadcast it proudly on Fbk. He waited anxiously for my reaction, while I
He breathed a sigh of relief, confessing his worry that his gesture had been over the top. It had been, but before I could find the words to say so, he admitted that since I’d liked the single rose, the rest of the flowers were in the back seat. Stunned, I looked behind me, and saw an enormous beautiful bouquet.
Y’all. It’s been almost 10 years since a guy bought me flowers. Did it freak me out? Hell yes. But at the same time, as the roses sit happily on my kitchen table this morning, filling my appartment with their scent, they put a shy smile on my face.
I’m gonna go ahead and conclude brunch was a date. I’m good at picking up the subtle signs like that.