Flower power

Right next to my office is a small flower stand and I'm gaga for the guy who runs it. Not only is he incredibly cute, but he's sweet, gentle, loves flowers, and is just the bee's knees. All of this is irrelevant, though, because I'm fairly certain he's gay. It's not the flower thing…there are actual clues. (Maybe it's also irrelevant because I'm, like, totally getting married next year, but whatever.) So sometimes I drop in on the pretense of looking at flowers just to get an eyeful of him (and sometimes to actually look at flowers). Mae has seen what a blithering idiot I become around him. I lose my capacity with the English language and can only manage a quick "hi!" before running off, giggling like a Japanese schoolgirl.

So it's with concern that I noticed his shop is closed today. A sign in the window says he's feeling under the weather. My first thought was, "Poor guy, I hope someone sends him flowers." Hee…do you think he enjoys getting flowers or is he all, "Pfft…whatever, mine are better." And does the fact that he's a florist make it more difficult for him to give gifts? Like his spouse would be all, "Flowers? FLOWERS? It's my freakin' birthday and I get flowers? What, did you forget it was my birthday until, like, five minutes ago?!" It's like the opposite of that Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand song—all you ever bring me anymore is flowers!