Well, the flowers came to the office at about twelve-thirty p.m. A mixed bouquet of six roses- two white, two pink, and two red – with about a dozen alstroemeria from Pro-Flowers.
I texted him and told him, “Thank you for the flowers ~ they are very pretty.”
He texted back and said, “And so are you. Would you like to meet at Outback Steakhouse for dinner?”
I know I am going to sound like a horrible woman.
The flowers create such a conflict in me. I love flowers. I wanted to be sent flowers. But after they came, when I was off for lunch, I went into the bathroom and cried. I guess it’s the conflict, the contrast: it is such a nice gesture, but so much else is wrong.
Maybe I should just focus on the positive: he did send flowers, he did invite me to dinner.
But then there actually is some very passive aggressive stuff going on here.
Even the flowers. Everyone walks by. Everyone sees the flowers. Everyone asks about the flowers. Everyone thinks I have a wonderful husband. And how can you explain to someone that you are unhappy with a man who sends you flowers? (No, I don’t try. I just smile.)
And the dinner. Yes, dinner is nice. Spontaneity is nice. But, I’m sorry, you’ve known about this date for twenty-five years. You’ve known your wife would wonder if you are going to take her out. And yet you play this little control game, this little guessing game to keep her on edge, off-balance.
So do I sound like an ungrateful wretch now? I’m sure I do.
The flowers are pretty and the dinner will taste good.