Don't Buy Me Flowers

Yes, you read that correctly. No, I'm not drunk. Yet. 

It's not that I don't like flowers, because I love making my own arrangements out of the 3 for $12 bucket flowers from Publix, but as far as relationships go, please don't buy me flowers. I really don't enjoy receiving flowers, especially from a significant other. To me, this gift means the complete opposite of what I feel it means to the majority of the rest of the females in the world. I guess you could say that my expectations on all things relationships have been hindered over the years. 

For those of you who weren't convinced I'm a fry short of a Happy Meal by now, you're probably convinced I am after reading the above paragraph but, as always, I really do have a decent explanation behind said feelings towards such an innocent thing, such as flowers. 

You see, towards the end of my last relationship I began receiving a lot of flowers. Flowers left on my doorstep, flowers sent to my office, flowers brought to my parent's house, flowers brought to lunch. Cheap flowers, expensively design bouquets and arrangements, flowers attached to a stuffed animal holding balloons, roses hand picked and wrapped in string. You name it, I've probably received it. 

What's the issue, you ungrateful bitch? Which is what I'm assuming the majority of you are probably thinking right now and, if I didn't know where I was going with this (for once I do), I'd probably be thinking similar thoughts. Just hear me out for a minute.

Out of the last, approximately, fifteen flower arrangements given to me, zero were just because or I love you flowers. Zero. Approximately fifteen of those arrangements, however, were I'm sorry I'm a total dick flowers. Only they didn't really mean I'm sincerely sorry, instead, more like can you just forget that I lied to you flowers or can you just forget that I called you every name in the book and slammed a door in your face flowers. And those are only two examples. Trust when I say, there were many, many, more. Some not as horrible and some more of a nightmare than I ever care to infect my beloved blog space with. 

Either way, I came to relating flowers given to me as a negative thing, as a reason to forgive unforgivable behavior, as a reason to continue being treated in a way I never wanted to see myself get treated in my entire life. And, yes, I realize my life is no longer in that dark place, but there's just some types of damage you can't shake, innocent bouquets of floral being one. For me, at least.

So, basically, fuck flowers. Except, like I said, I'm not some strange flower hating nazi. I just don't ever want to see another bouquet left on my doorstep, adorned with an I'm sorry card. I don't want to be greeted by a delivery man carrying an overpriced, elaborately arranged, collection of fancy florals, all because I was left alone to cry myself to sleep the night prior. To me, these "gifts" aren't a gesture of love, instead a reminder of unhappiness, pain, disappointment, and heartache.

Plain and simple, I don't want your flowers.

Though I suppose, if you're still itching to send me a bouquet or an arrangement of sorts, you could always send me a lovely bouquet of wine or a dashing arrangement of Fireball. I'll never relate said things to something negative. Well, unless either decides to give me a hangover I can't come back from. Then we may have to put the culprit in the trunk along with arrangements and bouquets of dead flowers.