This morning I woke up to five bouquets of roses.
Not one of these arrangements cost the men who sent them one dime. Nope, not even a penny. And best of all I didn’t have to add water or set them in the sun. All they did was click a button and I had red roses in my inbox. Ah modern technology, is this the romance of our time? I wonder if they emailed corsages to their prom dates.
I don’t know any of these men. For that matter, I don’t even know if they exist. Maybe they were made from A.I. or stolen identities. They all had one thing in common – messages that read, “How ya doin’ today” and that’s it. Not great, gentlemen, if that’s the best you can do. I prefer complete words with no cut-off endings. Punctuation would be nice, at the very least a question mark at the end of a question.
This would have been bad enough if I belonged to an online dating service, but these men all identified themselves as Facebook friends. And sure enough, they were. A quick perusal of Facebook showed they each had an account, a page of their own and apparently the identical taste in flowers. As an aside, guys (note I am now dropping the gentlemen reference), I prefer my roses real. Fragrant and with long stems.
There was something else this morning’s suitors had in common – their photos. They all look like headshots for a Hollywood movie studio and share an affinity for crouching by streams striking an “I love nature” pose.
I have questions.
Did you get my name from a mailing list? What hint did you have that I was the virtual flower type — should there be such a type?
While we’re at it, I am a big fan of little things like having my car door opened for me. Even my 15-year-old date to our school dance opened my car door when his father drove us to the event. It’s funny how those things stay with you.
Yes, I know one has to embrace change. But I draw the line at fake flowers. I like to smell my roses.
Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on X @patriciabunin and patriciabunin.com.
