Nothing says ‘I love you’ more than a creepy bunch of flowers. Not that the flowers are creepy of course, but the cryptic card or in most case, no card at all, never quite has the same affect on a woman as it does in the movies. Funny that.
I’ve given my fair share of them bunches in my time. What a hopeless romantic I was back in the day. Unfortunately one man’s romantic is another womens stalker and much money was wasted freaking girls out in the pursuit of lustiness. Luckily that can be done for free on the internets these days.
One such story involved me sending a rose to an older girl at college in the mistaken believe that she would fall for the pimply younger boy in the fitting adidas track pants, the ones with stirrups. I sent it anonymously of course because I didn’t want to appear desperate and then proceeded to send her cryptic notes along the lines of “I’ll wear this top tomorrow, or be carrying this so you’ll know it’s me”. Yep, I was making her work for entry into my wonderland.
Eventually she found out my name but didn’t know me by sight so to speed up the pre-coital process I made Bruiser, the go between in this match made in heaven, call me by a different name. It was a stroke of genius and one that would ultimate leave me alone with the stroking. Again.
Needless to say that when she did eventually find out who I was she was disappointed on so many levels (story of my life). Admittedly she did get a nice rose out of it but by then it had wilted up and died, like my love for her. Yeah I fancied her but she was also a complete slut and I don’t mean to cast aspersions on her character, she really was. It would never have worked out between us.
These days I’m not so inclined. Every time I send the missus mystery flowers she knows it’s me on account of the frugal size of the bunch, or that I got them from the supermarket. We used to do alternative giving’s like CDs and stuff but you know how it is, after a few years together you’re pretty much in agitate, not placate, mode with each other.
Lancey spiced up his Valentines this year by blocking the toilet at home and leaving it for his missus. Not intentionally mind, but he got sidetracked by its girth, his inability to flush it and the need to get to work and tell me about it. Some four hours later and he hasn’t heard anything from the home front, no call, no txt*. Maybe he should’ve done it in a shape of a heart?
I for one like it though, it’s different. Nothing says love more than leaving something akin to the Cook Strait cable in a filled bowl for the missus to clean up. It’s true love when you’ve reached that level of comfort. In the early days you would’ve done everything to clear that sucker, including grabbing the whisk from the kitchen draw…
No Valentines day is not for us and let’s be honest, is just another Americanised holiday that appeals to teenagers, the desperate to be American and retailers who make a mint out of fleecing all of them. Fuck that, I’d rather have a blocked toilet.
*Lancey eventually did get that call and it cost him a dozen red roses. That's the most expensive dump he's ever had.
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