The Power of Flowers

I recently treated myself to an all-girl, five-day Greek holiday, from Mykonos to Santorini.  Words that describe the experience:  Beautiful! Amazing! Inspiring! Delicious! Mind-blowing!  There’s a very real danger that I’ll sound like a broken record, encouraging every woman I know to make a similar trip a priority. But I need to get back on track. The point of this post isn’t my trip to Greece, lamb gyros or donkey rides; it’s about what happened when I got back.

One bouquet was thoughtfully arranged in the living room, and the other was in my bedroom.

After 4+ hours on a small EasyJet place, I was back in London. My boyfriend was waiting for me in my apartment with not one, but TWO bouquets of my favorite flowers—yellow and pink tulips.

My heart skipped a beat as I went through 3 stages, one after the other:  Confusion, delight, and guilt.  As it was the first time I had received flowers from a significant other, I didn’t know how I should feel.  Then, I was touched by his genuinely thoughtful and refreshing gesture.  And finally, I was a bit ashamed that I sincerely enjoyed having received them.

Allow me to me explain myself.  I have always been a bit of quiet feminist.  I show this in small ways rather than coming right out and singing, “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.” I would rather have back pains than let a guy carry something for me, I prefer to drive my own ATV/scooter/jet ski thank-you- very-much, I’ve always gone out of my way to say, “let’s plan Valentine’s day together,”  I don’t like receiving jewelry, you get the drift….

From day one, I have told my boyfriend that if he’d like to surprise me to spend the money on a decadent dessert or a great book rather than flowers, insisting that I am not that type of girl.  But he’s noticed that I buy them for myself and let out an “awwww” when someone passes us on the street with a bouquet in hand.

I’m not sure exactly what I thought or why, but I’ve always had a weird grudge about getting flowers.  Perhaps I thought of receiving flowers as a cliched girly thing, and I was scared that it would throw off the balance of equality in the relationship.

Whatever it stemmed from, it’s gone, tossed out the window and smashed to smithereens by a big, manly Mack truck. I am openly admitting that I love flowers, and I don’t care how girly it makes me seem. How many things have I missed out because I was scared to be thought of as too girly?  Bring on the flowers, the butterflies, and the pink.

Read all of Bianca Cuffia’s posts here.

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