Full time drunk, part time sex therapist.

The background story:
While running errands for G's birthday three weeks ago, I stopped into my neighborhood liquor store. To free my hands up to shop, I set my packages on the counter, one of which was a large bouquet of flowers. The young girl working that day looked at them and said, "Oh how pretty! Did your boyfriend give you these?"

"No," I answered, "It's his birthday, I bought them for him."

"NO! You're giving HIM flowers?" She said, honestly shocked.

"Sure... Don't tell me you've never given a man flowers before."

"Well NO!" She said giggling. "Give a guy flowers? If I gave my boyfriend flowers...he'd think it was, I don't know, weird or something."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He just would."

"Is he allergic? Insecure about his manhood? Does he have an innate fear of beauty?"

"NO!" More giggling.

"Then why would he think it was weird?"

"I don't know."

"Give your guy a little credit. I bet he'd be delighted."

She shook her head and laughed. As if the very notion was the most scandalous, ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

So fast forward to last night, I stop in to the same liquor store, same girl is behind the counter. She smiled, pointed to another shopper, and held her finger up in the universal 'wait a sec' gesture--I was to stick around until the customer ahead of me left so she could tell me something. When the person left she leaned over the counter a bit, and pulled the cowl of her turtle-neck down to reveal a constellation of hickeys which ran a line down her throat, where they, I assume, continued that downward path. Then she smiled again.

"Flowers?" I asked.

"Yep." she smiled.

"Told you."

Posted by Antigeist at December 3, 2004 03:38 PM