Of Bouquets and Blowjobs

There should probably be a disclaimer up here about being sensitive to certain endeavors and the fact that I’ll be blunt and not necessarily tactful in the following, but this is based on a conversation between B and I that I have found too delightfully entertaining to not share. So, yeah, there will be discussion of blow jobs and flowers in the following. If you don’t want to read about it, well, you have been warned.

When B and I first started dating, way back when, I was given advice by a dear lady that I worked with to always have fresh flowers in the house when he came by. She told me that this finishing touch, even if he never commented on it, would be noticed by him and appreciated. I’m not sure if this advice was just based on a different generational experience, or if my dearest beloved is merely immune to the enticements of floral buds, but he never noticed nor cared if I had flowers or not. Which wasn’t a problem for me, I bought flowers that helped me anticipate his arrival and then that brightened my days after he left with memories of stolen kisses and gently whispered love.

When B and I got married, there were no flowers. I spent my days leading up to the wedding trying to make sure the logistics would work and was barely able to spare the time to find a dress. Which, I couldn’t even find one to buy and got married in a dress that I detested and have never and will never wear again. All because it was blue and not black and that, at least, was acceptable. My Mom told me to buy flowers for a bouquet, I told her I didn’t want Walmart flowers and it would be fine. His Mom told him to buy me flowers, he told her that the Target flowers were ugly, and besides, he barely had time to marry me , much less buy flowers.

And then came the day that I came home from teaching and a trail of rose petals lead around the house. My husband had crafted a surprise for me and left me with two roses in a vase to remember that afternoon. He was proud of that moment. Quite proud, in fact, and referenced it often, especially if I hinted that I wanted flowers. I, being me, was amused that this one time occurrence of flower-buying and gifting was so highly touted by my darling husband. Which somehow, eventually, led to the following conversation.

I’m not sure what started it. But somehow we got on the subject of this one time (and at the time the only time) instance of him buying me flowers. He was pointing it out like it was the pinnacle of a relationship for him to have done so. And something inside of me snapped, what I said then, I still stand by now. For once in my life I managed to be witty and on the point in the moment and not just thinking of the thing to say three hours later after everyone else had forgotten what was going on. He brags about buying me flowers. And I respond.

You know, you and your flower moment. It’s like a girl giving a guy a blow job one time, and then always talking about how awesome she is for that one time that she blew him. No matter how many times he wants her to blow him again, she always refers him back to that moment that she did blow him. It’s her pinnacle. She won’t ever let him forget the one time she gave him a blow job and she will want major accolades for the one instance of the blow job. But she’ll ignore all future attempts to get her to blow him again. Because, you know, she did it that one time, for that one thing. 

He was silenced. This isn’t entirely unusual with B, so I waited. And then it came, the huh,  you’re right, I guess flowers should be more than a one time thing. I reveled in my triumph. I had managed to get my non-romantic husband to see that flower giving should be a regular occurrence, just like the other event that he enjoyed so much. (sorry friends, you were warned)

I wish this story had a fairy tale ending. That the prince brought the princess flowers at quirky-perfect times and remembered they had a great importance to her. But, the truth is that he even tried to get the gardener here in Turkey to rip out all the flowers. I had to protest to save the rose bushes over bare grass seed. He bought me flowers one other time as a sort of grand apology. Still, I’m hopeful that he’ll remember that to me, flowers are a nice symbol of him remembering something important to me. Failing that? I’ll just buy them myself. It’s easier than giving a blow job.

~The Countess~

Advertisements

About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
This entry was posted in Entertainment, Life and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Of Bouquets and Blowjobs

  1. Mary says:

    Hehe, I love this :) you’re SO right.

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s