The word “Interflora” is one that arouses in me a number of different emotions. Flowers, romance, love, envy, disappoinment, failure… just to name a few.
I’ve always worked in an office environment and don’t be pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. When the receptionist calls to say someone’s received a bouquet of flowers from anonymous (because the receptionist never knows who it’s from) and the lucky girl walks off in an air of feigned aloofness, suddenly turning her slow stroll into a dash as soon as she’s out of sight.
When she comes back, a bundle of floral delights in tow, we all oooh and ahhh and gush over the bouquet of roses! lillies! everything! and thoughtfully chirp along with each other about oh, your man, he’s so romantic. You’re sooo lucky! when all we’re really thinking is, fuck. Why doesn’t my man ever send me flowers to the office?
Oh, right I know. Because I seem to have a knack for finding men who, well no it’s not that they don’t buy me flowers, but they are ever so misguided as to think that having flowers delivered to the office is unromantic. That it would be oh so much more romantic to be given flowers in person. After work. At a romantic dinner.
How wrong they all were.
Guys. Read it here and read it now.
It ain’t about romance. It’s a fricking competition so please. Help us win, send us flowers to the office.
So when Interflora contacted me to offer one of their Christmas hampers and asks where it might be delivered, oh my god, the little hobgoblins that live inside me suffered minor heart palpitations then did a happy dance.
HAH. Hah! Mine! I will have something delivered to the office and I will be the one swanning around grinning, oblivious in my own idiocy and all you envious little people, this my friend is deliverance. Oh but wait. Wait a minute.
I work in an office. But I no longer have a team. There’s no one to show off to. And no one to tell me how romantic Interflora are for sending me cookies and fudge.
Ah screw it, the hamper’s heavy anyway, so whatever, send it to my house.
Given that I am far more a glutton than a romantic, a hamper suits me a hell of a lot better than flowers anyway, and after showing off to all of the no one that was at home when I received the hamper, I settled down on the floor and dug into my mystery prize.
And as I unraveled the hamper, hello, each goodie was better than the last.
Strawberry jam, onion chutney, Christmas pudding, clotted cream biscuits, organic rosemary & thyme cheddar cheese nibbles, choc chunk shortbread, chocolate, fruit mince pies, clotted cream frudge *taking a breath*, fruit cake with sugar crystals, cranberry sauce, mixed fruit and nuts, Twinings tea selection and two bottles of Spanish vino. All quality, all awesomeness, all in a great big picnic basket.
Because I’ve honestly never been a big fan of hampers before, always thinking that in such an eclectic mix of “stuff”, surely there’d be things I didn’t like and would go to waste. But having now been a recipient of a said hamper, I think you can all go away because I want all of it, all of it, and ain’t nuthin’ goin’ to waste, buster.
And this is a funny one because often blagging is just blagging and blogging is blogging (shocking, I said it, but so true), but lord almighty I think I’ve been converted. I’ve actually found myself trawling through Interflora’s hampers list (well, the Australian version because all my hamper recipients are in Oz) and holy heck, I’m gonna order some. For realz.
I think hampers are my new thang, you know? It’s your birthday? Here have a hamper. Christmas? Hamper. Hi who are you? Hamper. But if you’re a touch more romantic than me, well, ok fine, Interflora also appears to have a range of flowers just for Christmas, so maybe you can order a bunch there. But remember what I taught you, boys. Send the goddamn mother effin’ flowers to the office.