Flowers

Today I got sent flowers at work. From a real, live, normal boy. With my favourites (freesias) in and everything.

The only flowers I have received prior to this were:

1) A bunch of clapped-out yellow carnations from the petrol station, purchased in a hurry by my then boyfriend's flatmate on his behalf, on Valentines day, when I was about 18

2) The most enormous bouquet I have ever seen in the history of flowers (£100's worth), bought for me by a very bizarre man I accidentally went out with for two weeks. I was ill at my parents suffering from a kidney infection and the 'flu, busy running a temperature of over 100 degrees and hallucinating demons, when the Interflora person arrived with more flowers than anyone knew what to do with, from a man my parents knew nothing about. By the time I finally made it downstairs, the place looked like a funeral parlour

3) The beautiful bouquets I buy for myself on Valentine's Day. Who loves ya honey? Um, nobody. Here, have some of these from Marks & Spencer. And maybe a really big box of biscuits

4) Birthday/sorry I screamed at you and curdled your blood/leaving flowers from my mental former boss

4) Lots from my lovely mum

Reactions at work have been as follows: Who did you sleep with? Have you had a row? Why can't all men send flowers? It won't last, you know, this flower thing. Did you get chocolates as well? Ooh!

Needless to say, I'm very impressed.