I really like having fresh flowers in my house. You know, nothing too crazy…..something I can get at the grocery store for around $5 but just looks nice sitting on the coffee table or the kitchen table. There’s just something about walking into a room and seeing a vase of flowers; it brightens my day and makes me feel a little less bitchy. It’s probably because I’m a woman and have been conditioned to equate flowers with love and security and happiness and all that Hallmark bullshit. Plus having flowers in my house just makes me feel fancy and all kinds of bougie. It’s like, that’s right everyone, I can afford to frivolously spend money on something I know will be dead in a week!
So I bought these little pink roses on Saturday and put them in a crystal vase on my coffee table. Don’t they just look so pretty and happy:
Of course, you already know this story does not end well for the flowers. In fact, let’s take a look back at how previous bouquets have fared in my house:
That lovely little arrangement ended up as technicolor barfs all over my hardwood floors. So while I know any bouquet I buy is doomed from the start simply because it is the nature of cats to destroy happiness, I buy them anyway. And I enjoy them for a day or two until I wake up one morning and see this message posted on my facebook wall: