[taken after midnight, so technically I’m in the clear]
I was doing a pretty good job of ignorning Valentine’s Day yesterday — save for the strawberries and accompanying chocolate and cheesecake dip (the latter two of which I very diligently passed on) at work — until Phil came prancing shivering into the lobby with the lovely rose you see here. I proceeded to whack him over the head a couple of times for his thoughtfulness, which, naturally, in my state of consistently inconsiderate assholiness, I had not planned to reciprocate because I am of the opinion that Valentine’s Day is largely a bunch of horse hockey. Standing empty-handed when receiving a gift always makes me feel like a chump, but it’s even worse when you are caught completely unprepared, with no reciprocal gift waiting at home. Two years in a row.
Classy, as always.
So, Phil, thanks for the phlowers. They’re lovely and they have given me the perfect excuse to use Granny’s vase, which — in my lifetime, at least — never once held a living flower. Or phlower.