We were in college in Austin circa 1996 but we weren’t married yet. We had probably only been dating for less than a year. He was smitten but who can blame him, right? I’m kidding. I’m kiddingnotreally. We were about to part ways for the weekend. My then-boyfriend gave me a bouquet of flowers for me to take back home. They were a great size- not too large and not too big. They were beautiful and I appreciated the thought.
Minutes after he gave me the flowers, we loaded up his car with my bags. I situated the flowers in the back seat. He was taking me to the bus station so I could go back to Houston to see my family.
Have you ever been to the bus station? It’s a different sort of place. If you are imagining delightful smells and a really cheerful, safe vibe coming from it, knock that down a notch.
You see, back then I drove a Cutlass Oldsmobile. It was my second
one to drive. I was one of those lucky few that had two
Cutlass Oldsmobiles in her life. *coughs loudly* I drove my grandmother’s old one in high school and then I drove my parents’ even older one in the latter part of high school and then college. I have written about this delightful time in my life
We loved those Oldsmobiles apparently.
(This is why I go a little Kung Fu on my husband when he calls it a Buick.
“Remember when you used to drive that really old Buick in college?”
“IT’S NOT A BUICK AND YOU KNOW IT! HIIIII-YAH!!”)
Over this past Thanksgiving break, I did an impersonation of myself driving both of the Cutlassessessessessssseees for all of my family. It involved me yelling at my passengers to hop out fast before the car died. I had to keep it in neutral and bring it to a slow roll at “stops” or it went shudder-shudder-kaput. The other thing it involved was me pretending to drive with a cloth napkin dangling above my head. That, of course, represented my out-of-control headliner that I eventually ripped out while gritting my teeth in an angry Hulk kind of way.
The Oldsmobile was not to be consistently trusted for the 3-hour trip back home. The bus was better.
So, there we were in the Greyhound bus station parking lot saying our goodbyes. We would only be apart for two or three days but that was a long time, you know? I don’t think we cried or anything. We weren’t that far gone.
I reluctantly made my way into the station and did all the necessary pre-bus ride stuff, including putting on my best “I’m tougher than I look, so don’t try anything with me, mister” face.
I got on the bus.
I settled in.
I got a phone call.
“You forgot your flowers,” he said to me through my PrimeCo phone.
“Oh, no! I did, didn’t I? I am so sorry! I loved them, too!”
He had just
given them to me. I’m pretty sure those were the first flowers that he had
given me. He probably debated over whether or not to do it, knowing I was about to get on the bus. He decided that it was best and picked out the bouquet he wanted for me to have. Given that these were the first he had given me, he probably went over what he was going to say before he handed them to me. I’m thinking he was pretty proud of what he had picked out, what he had said and the fact that he had given me flowers. It was a marker in our relationship of some sort.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, I left them on the bus.
And I didn’t even realize it at all. I never turned around and said, “Oh, no! I forgot my flowers!” or anything of the sort.
Never crossed my mind.
Ever since then, it has been a running joke with us. He has gotten me many bouquets of flowers since then, but he will often add “don’t leave them in the back seat” when he gives them to me.
bouquet of flowers he ever gave me was soon after the most embarrassing Ferris wheel ride I ever took. You can read about that here
He likes to tell people that I don’t actually really like flowers all that much. I do like them, especially growing in a garden. Some of the cut ones hit me with a smell that reminds me of funerals. They just do. I think I love little rose bushes or little plants with flowers best, but sometimes certain occasions just require a bouquet, youknowwhati’msayin? I’m not too picky on the kind of flower that is in them, just as long as it’s not more than 15% carnations.
Speaking of flowers, it seems like some girls always have a favorite kind. I’m always jealous of those girls. I know roses, lilies, daisies, Gerber daisies and, you know, those basic kind. Some girls rattle off the fancy, less common flowers and say those are their favorites. I want to be one of those girls when I grow up.
What about you? Do you like flowers? Do you have any flower stories? I’d love to hear from you over on Facebook! I kicked the comments to the curb a long time ago because of the spammers that were trying to take over my life. It sure has been nice not seeing their faces lately!