Happy Mother’s Day/My flower shop experience

Normally I would be vocally adverse towards the exorbitant number of people who posted on Facebook about Mother’s Day today. It’s not because I am insensitive and lacking in compassion, but I don’t understand why it is necessary. For example, my mother doesn’t even have a Facebook. So why would I wish her a happy Mother’s Day on Facebook?

Every son and daughter in the world should wish their mother a happy Mother’s Day verbally, but if you’re posting it on Facebook, I feel like it’s just another way of people attempting to make themselves look good publicly. If people even put half the effort into making their mom feel special today as they did on their first-thing-in-the-morning-paragraph-long Facebook post, then they would be great people. But everyone knows they will do no such thing.

But I digress, because it was the Facebook posts that reminded me that today was Mother’s Day. It’s not that I forgot — I knew all week that Sunday was Mother’s Day — but I hadn’t remembered upon waking up, and who knows how long that would have lasted. So, thank you, you self-aggrandizing, narcissistic, politically motivated, time-wasting Facebook posters.

So upon realizing the significance of this day, the next question that my hungover mind immediately jumped to was “What do I do?” The obvious choice to at least start the day off with was to pick up breakfast. After checking if my go-to porn sites had anything of interest, I googled the name of my town along with the word “florists” and discovered that there was one within five minutes of my house.

I proceeded to leave my bed, brush my teeth, get dressed and embarked on a journey towards the florist. I parked around the corner and started walking there, and learned that there is apparently a bakery and coffee shop right by my house as well. I have no idea how long its been there, but it’s pretty remarkable how unaware people can be of local businesses that exist right near their homes. just because they don’t pay enough attention. I could tell you where every Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts is within a five-mile radius of my home, but from now on, I think I am going to try the local shop and support local businesses.

I really, really hope it’s a hipster place, with a 27-year old ruffled hair looking dude who loves nothing more than to pour people coffee with indie music blasting in the background and a chalkboard behind him that has the menu on it. Nothing would make me happier.

Anyway, I walked into the flower shop, and immediately felt lost. I have never actually bought flowers in my life — except one time when I bought a single rose for someone, but let’s not talk about that — and I had no idea what to do.

A few months ago I blogged about how out-of-place I felt when I was in a tool shop, but I think a flower store sits atop that list as well.

My eyes immediately darted to the already-made bouquets, but they just seemed so… unoriginal. So I then observed the flowers that were sitting in pots, ready to be planted, but saw that most were around $60. Mom, I love you. But not that much.

So I hung back and observed other customers. At first, the line was pretty lengthy, but as the minutes rolled by, the line was out the door. Mother’s Day is pretty much the Superbowl when it comes to Florists, I suppose. Well, that and Valentine’s Day.

I’ve been pretty vocal in the past about my distaste of the unoriginality of purchasing flowers, but considering how rarely I do it (never), I figured that the sentiment would surpass that notion, and that my mother would be very appreciative.

Upon my survey of other customers, I saw that some people were actually handpicking their flowers, and the florist would put them together in a personally made bouquet. I figured that was the way to go. Although I lack a keen eye when it comes to picking flowers, I figured — just make it colorful. Even an idiot could do that.

I ended up selecting two red and orange roses, a sunflower and a purple daisy. The total was $27. Perfect.

Being in a flower shop is an interesting experience on Mother’s Day. I momentarily exchanged glances with several other male customers — not because I’m gay — but because it’s funny to see other people’s expressions and to decipher if they were as uncomfortable as I am. In those momentary glances, I definitely caught that “Yeah, f’in Mother’s Day…” look.

Also, if you’re reading this and you have small children, please leave them in the car if you ever go flower shopping on a busy holiday. In a flower shop, there’s very little room to walk because flowers are all over the place, and because the employees are often walking around so they could attain the specific flowers that people request. So, that, mixed with the flurry of customers in the store at the time, made me want to step on every little kid I saw who kept running around and picking at all the flowers. I physically wanted to step on their faces.

Finally, another observation I made is how touchy it can be to shop for flowers on Mother’s Day. Other people see what you bought, and consequently, might make a judgment on how good of a son or daughter you are by your purchase. If you simply bought one of the aforementioned already-made bouquets at the front of the store, then forget it, you’re the worst.

If you buy one of the aforementioned $60-plus dollar flower pots, then screw you guy. You’re showing me up. I also hope your mother hates you and that she throws the flowers out later tonight.

But I made my purchase, finally left the hell house that was my local flower shop, and walked down the road back towards my car holding a large bouquet of flowers like a jackass. In total, between my initial fish-out-of-the-water bewilderment, subsequent indecision, waiting in line, picking out my flowers, and then waiting for them to be wrapped, I was in the store for about 30 minutes.

It was the first time I had ever purchased flowers, and hopefully, it will be my last. Now who wants to marry me?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s