If a cow ever got the chance...

Invited out somewhere with Lass and Apothecary--whom I have never met but whose diary I really like. Just too tired and weird and spacy to go, unfortunately. I am the antithesis of sparkly and it feels as though there's cotton in my head. Actually I feel kind of high, but there's no discernible reason for this. Maybe it's a like marijuana flashback. To the eight or so times I smoked in college? Marijuana: it's more dangerous than we all thought!

I may not even make the 10:00 Simpsons.

Today was of course the weird unspoken Valentine's Day competition in my office. Whose bouquet will be the most gigantic and spectacular? Whose card will be the most overwrought? I'd like to think I'm above these things, but it's a total lie. So I'm a hypocrite and a snob! It doesn't help that I really do like flowers--I buy them for myself whenever they're cheap enough, and I used to buy them for C as well until he told me one day that he really has no fondness for them. But--since he takes no notice of the plant kingdom--he almost never buys them. And then I'm in the weird position of having to admit that I am petty enough to want flowers, that I want the outer trappings of being in a relationship even though we already have the interior. Which he will say means that the interior isn't good enough for me. And then of course I become angry that I am being put in this situation where I have to deny my (not unreasonable) wishes or look like a jerk. These little scenarios usually end with me becoming angry.

So anyway, C shows up at my office with this pathetic little bouquet he got in the checkout line at Osco. You know, the ones with one wilting red rose and some greenery? He was hiding it under his coat and it didn't even show--definitely not going to win any points with the coworkers. Still, it was a flower, which meant he was trying--so I really couldn't say anything about it without losing whatever moral high ground remains to me. It would have been like laughing at his dick or something. So I put the "bouquet" in water and we went off to lunch.

The punchline: when I got home tonight there was a lovely vaseful of red and yellow roses, which he must have bought this morning, on my kitchen table. It was a good joke on me, because he knew that contrary to my loudly stated macho ideals, I would have been pissed if I'd gotten no flowers at all, and the fake bouquet was just flower enough that I'd have to shut up. I absolutely fell for his little feint, so the large bouquet really was a complete surprise this way. I don't even mind that he was making fun of the traditionalness (is that even a word?) of my desires, because it was funny and very sweet. Anyway, I'll shut up now.

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