Years ago there was a sappy song, "You Don't Send Me Flowers," very popular with moony-eyed wannabe lovers. Barbra and Neil moaned in harmony, while listeners shed a tear or two over the negligent suitor, who found, no doubt,that liquor was quicker than flowers, to paraphrase Ogden Nash. (The first line of his poem was, "Candy is dandy." He didn't mention flowers.)
I like flowers and flower gardens, the scents and colors are lovely to see and smell. I used to grow a nice little garden, and looked forward to enjoying whatever showed up in warm weather. I have friends who are terrific growers of all sorts of beautiful blooms. They are kind enough to share these with me.
Unfortunately, once these pretty things are put into a vase and set out to be seen, I have a tendency to forget about them, even if they are in front of me on the table where I eat. After a few days of neglect, or, actually, many days of my ignoring their existence, it suddenly occurs to me that they are quite dead, deceased, no longer vibrant, no longer pleasantly aromatic, and have morphed into garbage. They do notdeserve such a humiliating demise.
Of course I feel bad about this. They were meant to enhance my environment and give me pleasure, and I have turned them into the setting for Miss Miss Havesham's moldering wedding table.
On the rare occasions when I have received an ornate arrangement from a florist shop, the same thing happens. It is one thing to neglect posies shoved into a random vase, but quite unseemly to do the same to a bouquet accompanied by ribbons and a fancy container. The same dead floral fate ensues.
I am simply unworthy.
Please don't send me flowers.
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