Flower-hell

My boss called me today:
‘Someone wants to send you….something. Is it ok if I give them your home address?‘

She refused to elaborate any further.
The MONSTER.

It will most probably not surprise you that I do not like surprises. Which obviously has nothing to do with the fact that I’m a total control freak. Really. NOTHING.
Fuck. Even I don’t believe that.

But I caved, and said it was fine if she shared my address with whoever this mysterious person is that wants to send me mysterious thingamabobs, whatever they may be.

Which means that for the entire afternoon I have obviously been pondering who this person could be (obviously not a colleague, because I’m assuming they’d be able to get a hold of my address rather quickly) AND what it could possibly be that they need to send me. THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME. Fingers crossed that it’s not a horses head!

Overall – I’m a VERY easy person to give things to. I’m like that kid that is over the moon with a banana in a bag, with pretty much anything you give me. I was raised to be grateful and I like enough different (and easy to get) things that it ain’t hard to get me bouncing from joy over a gift.

EXCEPT for when you give me flowers.
Seriously.
Fucking flowers.

I am a sucker for food. You can make me happy with sweets. There’s no going wrong with wine or other sorts of booze and I’ll honest to god actually wear whatever items of clothing you see fit to award me. I’m friggin’ Dobby with a sock when it comes to clothes. They’re all awesome. Plus – I love candles, and bath-related items. Love games, and board games and jewelry and and and and. I am NOT a hard person to give a gift. Honestly. Just showing up and caring is already appreciated!

EXCEPT FOR THOSE DAMN FLOWERS.
Nothing screams ‘useless‘ to me like a bunch of rapidly dyeing and impossible-to-save colorful yet getting-petals-everywhere flowers. It doesn’t matter if they’re professionally twisted into the loveliest bouquet, or freshly picked from the neighbors yard. It doesn’t matter if they’re ‘supposed to keep for two weeks at least‘ or if ‘they’re really easy to dry yourself‘. I do NOT. Like. Flowers.
At all. I wouldn’t even like them if they DID keep for longer than the blink of an eye. It’s just not a thing for me. EVEN when it’s friggin’ prince charming toting a human-sized bundle of roses picked from the top of Mount Doom. I’d send him straight back for a cask of mead and a haunch of boar instead.

So now I sit here, not just wondering at why there’s unknown strangers out there calling my boss to send me things, but also at what that something could possibly be. It’s excruciating. Mindboggling. Horrendous. This is going to kill me all weekend if the mail doesn’t show up with said posted thing tomorrow.

And honestly.
I’m just hoping it’s not flowers.
Please don’t be flowers.
Hell. I’d even prefer the horses head. I think I could at least make ‘zuurvlees‘ from that.