Things Learned After Buying My Wife A Bunch Of Flowers And Shit
(Disclaimer: I’m aware there are people who think that, since getting married, I’ve dedicated the bulk of my writing to marriage-related topics. I’m also aware that some of these people are tired of me writing about marriage-related topics. If I were the type of person who said things like “You know, out of the 142 posts I’ve written since July 19th (my wedding day), exactly eight have been marriage-related” I’d say that. I’d also say “Get tired of deez.” I’m not that type of person though, so I’ll say neither.)
Earlier this week, I surprised The Wife Person with a bunch of flowers and balloons and chocolates and shit at work. She was away from her office in a meeting for a few hours, and I snuck in and left them there for her before she got back. I know this is probably the most cliche-ass shit you’ve read in at least eight months, but all marriage is is finding someone you want to do cliche-ass shit with and for. For the rest of your gotdamn lives.
Anyway, this experience taught me a few things, including…
1. Flowers are expensive as fuck.
This is actually something I was already aware of. As is anyone who’s ever purchased flowers. But, the outrageous prices of the flowers are something you repress in your memory until it’s flower buying time again and you buy a few dozen roses and you start saying shit to yourself like “Fuck. We could have gone to Red Lobster like three times for all this. And got dessert! And no one gets dessert at Red Lobster!”
But, you don’t want to be the guy who gets to the register at the flowers and shit store and sees how much all the flowers and shit cost and starts putting them back. Because, well, you just don’t want to be that guy. So you watch as the bill adds up, and you think about all the bacon-wrapped scallops you could be eating instead.
2. Walking around with a bunch of flowers and shit makes you the most popular man on Earth. It’s also annoying as hell.
Between getting the flowers and shit in the store, going to the register, walking from the store to my car, walking from my car to the lobby in my wife’s office building, and walking from the lobby to her office, I encountered maybe 20 different women. Out of those 20, maybe 17 or 18 of them said something about the flowers.
“Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Can I have some?”
“Are those for me?”
“She must be mad at you.”
“I hope she appreciates what type of man she has, cause niggas really aint shit and females need to know what type of niggas is out there so they can appreciate the man they have even more.”
It got so awkward that, instead of just laughing and smiling, I started replying, which made things even more awkward.
Random woman: “Can I have some?”
Me: “Maybe…next year?”
Random woman: “Wow. That’s a lot of flowers.”
Me: “Well, she’s….a….great….wife.”
3. Flowers are overrated.
They’re expensive, they don’t smell particularly good, they hurt when you grab them, and they die almost immediately. Their only benefit is that they look nice if done right.
Basically “flowers” = “ass implants.”
Yesterday, I told The Wife Person about the flower buying experience. Specifically how I couldn’t walk three feet without another woman making some comment. Her reply?
“Ha! Now you know what street harassment feels like.”