Transplanted Life
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
So now I've got these flower things on my desk.

They're pretty, I guess, if you're fond of pretty. There's red and yellow roses and a couple other things I'm not woman enough to identify. There's a little note from Kurt attached to them, saying he's sorry work ran late last night, and would I maybe be free for something tonight?

I have to admit, as freaky as the idea of getting flowers from Kurt seems, the idea is kind of cool. I can't recall many times that I, as a guy, have had stuff meant to make me feel good sent to me while I was working. It's kind of unfair, when you think about it. A guy screws up, he sends flowers or candy or something, and the girl gets a little boost from it. But the other way around, not so much.

Why flowers, though? Obviously, it doesn't enter into Kurt's head that it's hard enough for me to feel like a man, drinking diet soda, doing this reception work, and wearing a bra/stockings/shoes/skirt; a bouquet of roses sitting on my desk doesn't help. But why not send me lunch or a book or something like that, instead something I can't do anything with except put them in water and hope they don't die completely until after the person who gave them to me sees that I didn't just use them for mulch or something? Speaking of which, am I supposed to just make sure I have a vase with me at all times in case someone gets it in their mind to send me flowers? That strikes me as sort of conceited.

While I'm thinking that, the other ladies in the office had some sort of sixth sense about someone receiving flowers, and soon were all congregated around my desk. Opinions seemed to run 80% "sweet", 20% "you're not buying that, are you?" Janet, somehow, actually did produce a vase to hold them in, too.

I was just about to call Kurt when Kate, who'd hung around, looked at me aghast. "You're just going to say yes?"

I looked at her, confused, since she'd been pretty solidly in the "sweet" category. "Well, yeah."

She rolls her eyes, wondering how I could be so naive. "You can't let him think some nice flowers are a way to get off the hook. Make him earn it."

"Shouldn't I at least call and tell him I got the flowers?"

"Well, of course. Tonight, when he's home alone. Didn't you learn anything in high school?"

Suddenly, a whole bunch of nervous evenings over the past fifteen years made perfect sense.

"C'mon, I've got tickets for a sneak preview of that Sundance series tonight. You can call him when you get back."

Well, I figure it beats paying for a ticket later. I feel kind of bad about doing this to Kurt - having been jerked around by women this way myself, I know how much it sucks. But, I did get my time wasted last night...

This must be what Darth Vader felt like turning to the Dark Side. You know what you're doing is wrong, but it makes sense, and by the time you realize what you've done, you're telepathically choking people who disagree with you (or watching Oprah).

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Note: This blog is a work of fantasy; all characters are either ficticious or used ficticiously. The author may be contacted at