I’m a dancer.

I’m a singer.

I’ve been in my fair share of shows.

So naturally, I’ve gotten my fair share of flowers from loyal audience members (ie. my lovely friends and family).

How in the world could this be a problem?

News flash: I am a total Scrooge when it comes to flowers.

Not to be pessimistic or fatalistic or anything like that, but I just...can’t. They like, remind me that life is temporary. All they do is die. And what the heck am I gonna do with them? Watch them die?

Not trying to be unappreciative–promise.

Maybe I just don’t have a green thumb…

Maybe I should lie and say I’m allergic…

Perhaps, I could justify my dislike with a sad story about a broken heart, a Valentine’s Day mishap, or getting stung by a bee…?

But nah.

I just don’t get it.

I know they can be pretty to look at. I know it’s the thought that counts. But I don’t get why I can’t just get chocolate after a show...or boba...or literally anything else that will actually be useful to me! Like, I dunno, a stapler? Or a 2-day Park Hopper ticket to Disneyland? Or a job offer with a 401k plan?

There are sooooo many other alternatives that won’t stink up my house & attract flies when I forget to water them. So so so many.

But, no matter how much I make this plea, some people just don’t listen.

On my 20th birthday, I told a young man that I didn’t like flowers. I kindly (and then not-so-kindly) requested that he not buy me flowers. I warned him not to make that mistake.

And what did he do? Have one dozen red roses delivered to my doorstep, which he had ordered from across the country. (I also never gave him my address, but that’s another story…)

Just like, no–wtf?

Why.

And so I was pissed about this stupid, trivial moment of receiving flowers.

I felt dumb, I felt he was dumb, I felt the whole situation was dumb.

And it just made me REALLY dislike flowers.

Ugh.

So, moral of this story: DO NOT BUY ME FLOWERS.

You better believe I gave him a good talking to over FaceTime that evening.

And actually, the real moral of the story is: LISTEN to your (*potential*) significant other/friend/future enemy. Just eff’n ~listen~ to someone who’s trying to tell you something. Because maybe, idk, she might actually mean the words coming out of her mouth.

*rolls eyes*

So anyway, on a happier note, one time someone actually did hear me out:

After one of my dance shows, my boss (aka best boss ever, who now works for Google) gave me a Mission City Creamery gift certificate. ICE CREAM–what a wonderful gift to receive. Who woulda thunk it? *bless* The kicker? He drew flowers on the envelope. In the beautiful color of black. Now THOSE were flowers I was willing to receive. THOSE were flowers that wouldn’t bring me down. ;)

Take notes folks/future lovers/my Tinder hopefuls. Take thorough notes.

OK

Rant over.

*drops mic*