I Thought I Wanted Someone to Bring Me Flowers

Vanessa Torre

It was the deal-breaker that I made the decision to break.

https://img.particlenews.com/image.php?url=0UmMjV_0Yyjv1Yt00Photo by Kristina Paukshtite via Pexels

There’s something about flowers. They’re delicate and resilient at the same time. Give them care and they open up beautifully. Neglect them and they wilt away. These simple processes are familiar to me. I’ve lived them.

A few years ago, at the behest of a friend who had struggled with love for a long time, repeatedly finding herself with the wrong man, I took her advice and made The List. Most people, at some point or another, have made The List. All the attributes you’re looking for in the person you want to crown Your Person.

My friend contended it was part hope and part manifestation. When I made my list, I had lost any belief in either. My faith was solely in her. Her only rule was that everything had to be positive. You don't get what you want by telling the Universe what you don’t want. Seemed fair.

My list was pretty generic and broad except for one thing: I wanted a man who was going to bring me flowers.

I’ve romanticized flowers but it’s almost as though women don't have a choice. We’re conditioned from a young age that is it’s the simplest yet most time-honored romantic gesture.

As bright, young, hopeful girls we have them placed on our wrists for dances. When we get older, they adore our desks announcing someone’s affection. With the birth of our children, they add life to a room that holds one more life.

I fell in line with this and with that came longing. Neither of my two husbands had much strength in the flower-giving department. I wasn’t quiet about the longing that grew with every birthday, Valentine’s Day, or any other random holiday that floods stores with colorful flowers.

I would even go so far as to write “flowers for wife” on shopping lists only to have them forgotten like they were a jar of peanut butter. After a while, I assigned another emotion to flowers. Resentment. It’s such a simple gesture that would bring me such immense joy. And yet…

The hard part about trying to find a man who brings you flowers is that modern dating doesn’t necessarily value flowers. We have associated a man in a grocery store buying a beautiful bouquet with the assumption that he did something wrong. Did flowers really become an apology instead of a gesture?

After a while, the number of first dates I went on that led nowhere had dashed any hope that I was ever going to see my kitchen counter alive with living color. So I did what any woman would do. I started buying myself flowers.

At first, it was every now and then. Now, it’s every week.

It started with whatever I could find in the discount bin. I’ve learned what days my local store gets shipments and marks the existing bouquets to half off. Now, I buy what I want, price be damned.

Then one day a man walked into my life. To be honest, he kind of hiked in. We met for an outdoor date at the beginning of quarantine. It took a few dates to figure out if I wanted to keep him. He was cute, emotionally available, and funny. But there was this list.

After a few weeks of seeing each other, I became quite smitten with him. I couldn't help it. Then, I thought about the list. I found it in my phone and that one line that read “He brings me flowers” stared back at me.

I tested him. In the first month or two, I made sure my self-bought flowers were front and center when he came over. I’m not the kind of woman to plant ideas in someone’s head that could make them a little crazy so I made sure to make mention that I treated myself.

I’d spend time on a Saturday making a beautiful arrangement and send him a picture, proud of my work. I thought I was dropping hints and sending him a clear message.

Date after date, he’d show up at my house and never with flowers. The same thoughts I had about my husbands crept in. He must know how much I love flowers and how happy they make me. They’re inexpensive. And yet…

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Flaming pinball, nerd, music lover, wine snob, horrible violin player. No, she won’t stop taking pictures of her drinks. vanessaltorre@gmail.com IG: vanessaltorre Twitter: @vanessaltorre

Phoenix, AZ

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