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.
