Again, diving back into my past, we find the answer to the riddle…but I’m a girl and I don’t like getting flowers?


Yes it’s true. I hate getting flowers. I even hate looking at flowers. I see no point in flowers. Oh I know, but they are pretty…but they die. So, what’s the point of having something pretty that you know will just die in a few days? It goes along with Shakespeare’s eternal question “is it better to love and loose then never love at all” (with that I do agree it is better to love and loose…at least you will know you were capable of love to begin with). With flowers though…no point to them.


Why am I so bitter about flowers? What did they ever do to me?


It all started when I was in seventh grade. For some reason, I was dating a guy in high school. Every Friday he would bring me a half dead red rose. Sure, the first and second time I felt really special for getting a flower. But then, once I was getting them every week…well, it was annoying. I didn’t feel special, I felt like a habit.


Needles to say, we broke up. It wasn’t just the half dead flower Friday’s, it was a lot of things.


As I got older, I did join the school musicals. It was tradition that you got flowers after a performance. We would all get each other flowers and it didn’t really mean that much to me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved getting the funny cards and all of that, but I knew they were coming so there was no surprise to them (that’s what I mean by the flowers didn’t mean much…there was no mystery).


My senior year, we all know that my mom died. Well, let’s just say I got more flowers then the funeral parlor. I’ll be honest with you I hated getting the flowers because of the reason why I was getting them. People were just trying to help, but they were really just reminding me that my mother was gone. Much like the Valentine cards of fourth grade, these people would not have sent me flowers if my mother weren’t dead, so why was I getting them now?


There is only one person who made me feel better with the flowers. It was my history teacher and I thought of him as a god. I was shocked that he would go to that much trouble just to let me know that he was thinking about me. His card I kept for a long time as well.


Dorothy Parker once wrote that all she ever got was one red rose and no one ever sent her something practical, like a limo. I understand her logic. Flowers are the go to gift. Just like Mrs. Parker, I am not the go to girl. I want to be impressed. I want to be wooed. Flowers say death. Flowers say I couldn’t think of anything else, so here. Impress me by thinking of something else.