Flower Policy

In honor of February 14th, allow me to share with you my Flower Policy. It might be slightly harsher than my Bridal Shower Policy, but believe me, it's based on sound logic. You'll see. It is inspired by Nemesis's post today, especially the part where she buys flowers for herself and plans on delivering half to her sister. Nemesis's actions are in line with my Flower Policy. Without further ado...


1. Women should never* have flowers delivered to other women. Although it normally takes a woman one second to grab the card and look at the sender's name, that one second is enough time for at least one dozen male names to cycle through the woman's brain (men who she hopes it might be, men who she hopes it's not). Invariably, seeing a woman's name on the "From" line will cause disappointment. Boiled down? Women sending flowers to other women causes disappointment. And it's not always just a let down after one second of anticipation. Once, for me, it was several agonizing hours. I had recently had a fight with a love-interest. I went home to find that a flower-delivery attempt had been made while I was away. The note indicated that my neighbors had signed for the flowers. But my neighbors weren't home. I waited four agonizing hours, wondering blissfully that perhaps the flowers were from an apologetic love-interest. Instead, when my neighbors got home, I found out that the flowers were from my roommate. Who knew I had had a fight with my love-interest. Who felt bad and thought that sending me flowers would make it better. Who could have just as easily (and less expensively) bought the flowers herself and gave them to me herself, or left them on the kitchen table for me herself. I'm just saying.

*There are exceptions of course. This past December, I missed a flower delivery and had to go pick the flowers up at the shop. I told El Senor that the flowers were either Love Flowers, Friend Flowers, or Death Flowers, and that since I had just returned from my grandma's funeral, I was safely assuming that they were Death Flowers. When I picked them up, I found out that Daltongirl, Nemesis, and Sakhmet had sent them to me. There was no disappointment because A) there was no expectation that they were love flowers, and B) none of those women live in my same city, so it's not as if they could have delivered them in person.

2. No one should ever give flowers anonymously. The anonymous giving of flowers is a cruelty that should have been prohibited in the Geneva Conventions. The anonymous giving of flowers doesn't work out well for the receiver or the sender. I believe that very seldomly does the receiver's hope of who the sender is actually match up with who the sender is. Women anonymously giving flowers to women is the worst. The recipient will be deluded into thinking that some man has romantic interest in her. The let-down will be soul-mangling to say the least. Men anonymously giving flowers to women is only slightly better. But when the recipient finds out that the sender was actually the weird social outcast instead of the handsome French speaker, and that the weird social outcast was actually harboring a secret undying love for the recipient, the recipient will be both crushed and very, very afraid. And then the recipient will hate that kind of flower for the rest of her pathetic, lonely existence. (And so what if I'm speaking from personal experience? Don't ever try to send me yellow roses because I don't care what the crap you say about yellow meaning "friendship"---I know that it means much, much more, you crazy social outcast!)



So that's basically it for my Flower Policy. If you're a woman, deliver the flowers by hand so that there's no moment of hope to cause inevitable let-down. If you're a man or a woman, sign your name to those flowers on penalty of death.

10 comments:

Suzie1 said...

I concur. I was thinking just that very thing today. We get our hopes up for a good flower-sender, but inevitably... they're not who you want them to be from.

Although at this point, I'd take flowers from a rabid, cannibalistic homeless dude.

Brinestone said...

My flower policy is that I don't like getting flowers at Valentine's Day because a) they're overpriced and b) they're out of season. I love getting flowers, but at V-Day, I just feel guilty when I get them.

M. Paul Bailey said...

Actually, it is prohibited by the Geneva conventions. You have to remember that those rules only apply to POWs. I tried to send some flowers to a friend in Gitmo, and I had to supply my name. It was really annoying.

dimmi said...

I approve of this post. I really approve of it, actually.

punk rock girl said...

yeah i got some unsigned flowers with just some creepy music lyrics about a girl named natalie. yeah i actually emailed my ex boyfriend hoping it was him. awkward. how the hell am i supposed to know who to avoid if people dont sign the card?

Rachel said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
KT said...

I'm mad at you. I have not posted any of my reactions to your blogs because they never seem quite clever enough but THIS TIME, I was so excited because I could make some hilariously witty remark about yellow roses and then you went and ruined it by bringing up the yellow roses yourself.

I may be as scarred now as the social outcast no doubt was, way back in the day.

Ah.....mammaries....now I just need to figure out a name for myself....

Cicada said...

KT,

Your chosen name was enough for me to identify you easily without having to give it a lot of thought and sleuthing like I did for married-in, your brother-in-law. So it works. If you don't like it, Tiffany or Stephanie are good options...

Natalie C. said...

I have a mom & sisters that have sent me flowers. But a step up from that is a COOKIE BOUQUET. Who are you going to prohibit from sending you those? No one.

Melyngoch said...

Mostly I agree with you, Cicada, but then I remember that one time that I did have flowers delivered, and I almost feel guilty, except it really was because I had a crush on you, so then I don't feel guilty anymore.

But once I got orange roses anonymously, and it was agonizing, because anyone who gives me orange roses should turn out to be an Italian-speaking poet with stormy eyes and mad cooking skills, and then it was just my roommate's kinda freaky cousin . . .