Bouquet: (n) an attractively arranged bunch of flowers
- One drugstore
- One grocery outlet
- And one florist
When I was a young boy beginning to dabble in the witchery of romance, I decided, on the arrival of my third date with a young lady, to purchase some flowers. My parents, in an attempt to be supportive, told me I could charge them down at the Bellgrade Floral Shop.
So I walked in, a complete novice, intimidated, and fell victim to a helpful clerk.
She pitied me. She thought it was cute that I was going to buy flowers for my girlfriend. She immediately began to make suggestions. Not wanting to discourage her or come across as a rube, I nodded and agreed to each one of her many considerations.
When she was done, adding in all the baby’s breath (which she explained to me) I had a huge bouquet of flowers. It was impressive.
She asked the question. “How would you like to pay for this?”
Obedient son that I was, I told her that it was to go on my parents’ account. I was thrilled, and my girlfriend was over the moon about her array of garden beauties.
Two weeks later I was called in to my mother and father’s presence because they had received the bill from the Bellgrade Floral Shop.
And keep in mind, this was in an era when my dad made seventy-five dollars a week. So he was red with rage and my mother could barely breathe. They asked me, “Why did you spend so much money on those flowers?”
I had no real answer.
I did not know how to explain how the combination of the fragrant greenhouse, the happiness of my girlfriend and the salesmanship of the lady … had swept me away.
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