Ah, Valentine’s Day.

I suppose it’s as good a time as any to formally announce I’ve somehow managed to land an actual girlfriend. She’s biologically female, sane, responsible, smart, witty and so attractive she makes me pretty much legally retarded when I’m around her. (Seriously. When she answered the door the last time I visited, all I could think to say was “ICE CREAM!”) I am gratuitously, sickeningly, shockingly nuts about her. Inexplicably, she feels the same way about me.

Of course, if I’m going to blog blogs on my blog about our adventures, she needs a nom du Internet. Long-time readers of RiF and RRC know the folks in my neighborhood—Uck, Spike, Miss Black, my traveling companions, Cookie and Jens. My girlfriend needs a moniker, too. We discussed it over coffee last Sunday. That’s how much of a dork I am. I was compelled to discuss with my actual flesh and blood girlfriend what Internet name she would like while we sat in her real, actual living room. I’ve called her Missy D, Hamslice, Hamsizzle, Hamslizzle, and a bunch of sweety-poopy-moopy-doopy-type names, but nothing seems to stand out. I’d open it up to the floor, but I don’t think she’d appreciate a nickname like “You Poor, Poor Woman.” So, until I can come up with something better, I’m going to call her MK. You got that? My girlfriend is MK.

Back to Valentine’s Day.

On the RRC forums, we had our annual V-Day Bitch & Brag, in which those opposed to V-Day bitch about what suckers those in favor of V-Day are, those in favor of V-Day point out how those opposed to V-Day are obviously single,  people bitch about their gifts or lack thereof, or, as was the case with RRC forums member HolyZombieJesus, people post copy-and-pasted Anti-Christmas rants repurposed as anti-V-Day rants and fool me into thinking they are real. I laughed at the tales of V-Day gifting gone awry, awwwed at the saccharine sweetness of other tales, and generally admired a whole bunch of adults with kids who still manage to do something nice for their significant others every once in a while.

As I wrote in response to the fake anti-V-Day rant, the holiday has gotten too commercial. We’ve strayed from the true meaning of Valentine’s Day, which was to commemorate when Saint Valentine led an army of naked, winged, infant archers into battle against an entire country in an effort to make their enemies fall in love with each other.

My V-Day plans were simple: Send MK a nice flower arrangement, then spend the weekend with her. Easy peasy. Of course, because the plan involved me, it would be needlessly complicated.

Two weeks ago, I logged on to Teleflora.com and ordered the arrangement pictured at the beginning of this post: a lovely, understated, teddy-bear-free set of two orchids in a simple wire pot. Naturally, I had it sent to MK’s office on the Friday before V-Day. Half of the point of sending these arrangements to the significant other’s workplace is to cause envy among the significant other’s coworkers. This is not to say the process is not fraught with peril, however, as I found out.

After placing the order, I basked in my own awesomosity, thinking “Oh, man. She’s going to love these things and her coworkers are going to think she’s got one heck of a great boyfriend. I am awesome and skilled in the ways of love and courtship.” After those four minutes were up, I resumed regular life until last Friday arrived. After lunch, I recieved an email from MK saying I was the sweetest man ever and that the flowers were lovely and that the coworkers were oohing and ahhing over what was obviously a heartfelt and sincere gesture on the part of her awesome boyfriend, me. Mission accomplished, I thought.

After I’d arrived at her house on Friday night, doffed my coat, stowed my bag, and settled on the couch, she proudly motioned toward the dining room credenza and said “See the flowers you bought?” I pulled my glasses down over my eyes, looked in that direction, squinted, paused, looked again, squinted some more, then said “Uh—what am I supposed to be looking at?”

“The flowers you bought me.” she said.

“Those flowers? On the credenza?”

“Well, yes.”

 

Obviously, there had been some sort of mix-up. What I ordered was a lovely, understated, non-corny and simple arrangement of orchids. What was delivered was what appeared to be “The Country Bear Jamboroo I Loves Ewe Valentine Down Home Country Pink Shit Assortment”

“I didn’t order that shit!” I exclaimed. “The thing I ordered was way different!” And then the laughs began. I was apoplectic. “You thought I would order you something like that? I would NEVER order something so corny, so hackneyed!” (Clearly, I am under the impression that my taste is impeccable. This, coming from a man who goes a year between haircuts and whose favorite sweater has a fake t-shirt Dickie attached.)

By delivering that pink abortion, the florist had painted MK in a corner. Thinking that’s what I had actually intended to send, she had no choice but to say they were lovely. If I were her, I would have thought “Where on earth did this guy get the idea that I would like an arrangement of pink hydrangeas in a down-home country basket festooned with gaudy red ribbons lined with tiny hearts topped with two giant wooden pubes?” Even the attached card was jacked up. It was printed in a script font with all caps. Who prints script in all caps besides Michael Jackson? (Google Neverland Ranch) She may have thought this in her heart of hearts, but decorum and the unwritten rules of courtship dictated she say they were lovely even if she thought they weren’t.

On the flip side, I am thinking MK thinks I am completely tone-deaf and unaware of what she might like. I think she thinks I think she would like that pink hillbilly mess. I think she thinks I’m just one rung above last-minute-gas-station-rose-and-candy-purchaser.

We chalked up the flowers as “great—for the story” and had a tremendous weekend. Upon my return to Pigspittle, I called Teleflora to complain. They are refunding 50% of the purchase price, making the florist pick up the Country Pink Jamboroo at their expense, making the florist deliver the actual arrangement I ordered, sending MK an apology, and, according to Teleflora, blacklisting the florist from further Teleflora deliveries. I asked the customer service rep “If they couldn’t get it even close to right on V-Day, how do we know they’ll get it right this time?” The rep couldn’t answer me and offered to send me to tier two support. I declined.

I can hardly wait to see what they send instead.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 18th, 2009 at 9:27 am and is filed under Sharing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.