Wednesday, April 9, 2008

A Rose By Any Other Name


An open letter to the fella who left a dozen red roses and a stuffed bunny on my doorstep on Valentine's Day





Dear you,

I just don't know how I can thank you.

Really.

I have absolutely no idea how I am going to thank you, because I have no idea who you are.

Don't worry, I got the note you left. It was really sweet and humorous, especially the part about the flowers being for me and the bunny being for my daughter, unless I had a thing for stuffed animals. I thought it was interesting that you put photographic paper in your printer to put the note on, but made sure to sign your name in ink at the bottom, a personalized touch.

The thing is, and I'm embarassed to say this, but I can't make heads or tails of your signature.

And that has put me in a pretty delicate situation that has proven to be pretty awkward.

I've been asking around, and nobody will admit to giving me the flowers.
There was the guy who was my good friend and was a little more than a friend for about 2 weeks back in January. He seemed like the most likely candidate to feel obligated to do something for me on Valentine's Day, but at the same time, I really didn't think he'd want me to confuse our relationship for a romance. But I asked him anyway if the flowers were from him, and he says they weren't. And now he's avoiding me like the plague.

So I asked all the rest of the men in my life. I asked the guy I'm having dinner with tomorrow night, my buddy that I had lunch with last weekend, my sweet gay neighbor across the street, and a couple of my married guy friends, which was a real stretch, since I knew they hadn't even gotten flowers for their own wives. But hey. You never know. They all denied it.

I didn't stop there. After I ran out of potential men, I moved on to women. They all thought it was really sweet that I received roses and tried to help me decipher your signature, but no one has confessed to being responsible for your act of kindness. Or romance, I'm not sure which. At one point, I was convinced that someone was playing a cruel joke on me, giving me roses to mislead me into thinking someone had romantic feelings for me, and intentionally signing an illegible name. But my friends tell me I'm being ridiculous, that nobody, friend or foe, would go to the expense of buying a dozen red roses and a stuffed animal for a joke. I checked into it, and when I realized the outrageous price tag on red roses on Valentines Day, I agree. It wasn't a joke.
So I apologize if I hurt your feelings or seemed rude for never thanking you for the lovely gift. I imagine that you think I'm a heartless destroyer of men's hearts because you did such a sweet thing, and I never even acknowledged it. Since two months have gone by and you have still not made yourself known to me, I thought a public display of gratitude was in order.

Thank you, whoever you are.

The flowers are dead and gone now, but I've saved the note, and keep buying fresh flowers to remind me of your sweet gesture. Maybe someday you'll find the nerve to ask me why I never thanked you.

Editor's Note: Dear Readers, what do you think the chances are that the woman I bought a dozen red roses for on Valentine's Day colluded with her new lover, Toots, to repackage the flowers, add a friendly note with a generically undecipherable signature, and leave them on my front doorstep? That would mean that ultimately, I have myself to thank. No wonder nobody ever stepped forward. Sorta makes sense, in a wacky, weird way. 

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