When Sparky and I had been dating for about six months we got into a fight about roses. He brought me roses. A lot. Almost every-time we went out. And I got mad.
Not at first. At first I was delighted. But then I told him I liked irises, that irises were my favorite flower. I went into vast detail, no doubt boring him to tears. I can only imagine now how his thoughts must have turned to online porn as I sat there discussing the merits of irises to roses. Irises are common, but I like the flower and the whole structure of the stem. I really liked a few dozen in a vase, all purple on the top and green on the bottom.
I went into details about my love of irises and of other flowers. I did this many times because you see, I was looking for him to “hear” me and perhaps bring me irises. However, his mind must have switched to the gangbang channel in his head because he never got it.
And he continued to bring me roses.
It started to bug me. Soon the roses became this symbol, a symbol that he wasn’t listening to me, a symbol of laziness. I meant to start as I meant to go on and I was not about to have a boyfriend who took the lazy way to romance. I had ponies for that and they brought good stuff like coke and beer or leather and silicone.
I wanted Sparky to “know” me and know when he picked up flowers which flowers would particularly tickle me. I wanted to be tickled. I did not want him to just pick up any old bouquet and think he could get away with just the idea of thoughtfulness. I wanted real thoughtfulness.
It was a pretty big fight and it was mostly me, a complete and well rehearsed drama queen yelling and Sparky just standing there shell shocked. He really had no idea how to respond as he had been mentally organizing his online porn collection every time I spoke of flowers. His lack of response just gave me more venom. At one point I remember he just looked at me vacant eyed and stunned, unsure as to how roses got him into so much trouble. He was not unlike a deer in the headlights without any clue as how to move out of harms way. I know, I know. It was obnoxious. But in my defense, I didn’t have the knowledge about subtlety and careful manipulation of situations. I have always been pretty direct and know one could accuse me of not asking for what I want. However, I feel a little bad looking back on it. But it worked. He never, ever brought me roses again. He always looked for something uncommon if he couldn’t find irises.
I think we had been married for about a year when he noticed I had bought some roses for the house. He asked me why I bought them. I hated roses.
My response? Oh, who could hate roses. That’s like hating puppies or kittens.
He got that confused look on his face again, threw up his hands and walked out.
The picture above is what he brought home yesterday (I can’t load the picture for some god awful reason). Gorgeous flowers. I have no idea what they’re called, but I love them. They are literally four feet tall.
I asked him this morning why he bought them for me, out of the blue. he said, “To get into your pants.”
Hey, what can I say, I’m easy.