Flavor of the Week

I think after my last post, a little sunshine is in order!  Last night when I got off work (or this morning, however you choose to look at it), I stopped by the little international market next door to my bar.  Most every Tuesday, on my walk to the crosstown bus, I stop for bananas--I always seem to run out of bananas on Tuesdays... and I eat a banana EVERY day, so I must replenish my stock. I had a very fruitful (pun intended) shift, and I've taken to buying fresh flowers for my apartment each week.  The only requirement is that they be yellow and under $10.  Not too hard to fulfill!  The first fresh flowers I bought were the tulips I blogged about a couple weeks ago, and then last week I bought some kind of tiny lilies that wilted rather quickly.  Since they had an early demise, and I had a prosperous shift at work, I decided to treat myself to the cheery sunflowers that greeted me upon my entry to the market.

The little man who speaks broken English as he works the market counter and I have formed what I like to think is a special relationship as a result of my Tuesday banana runs.  From what I can tell, most of the people he interacts with at that time of night are also on their way out of my bar--but they are barely coherent and quite unpleasant.  So, I think we have a little bond of post-midnight soberness.  He gave me the sunflowers for $6, instead of their marked price of $7, and I went on my way.

I don't know what it is about carrying flowers around the city, but I've noticed it makes me feel happier... and maybe more confident?  Like, maybe people think these flowers are from my dashingly handsome and perfect boyfriend.  Or maybe they think I'm bringing them to someone else as a surprise.  But, little do they know... my secret is that I bought them for ME!  I think that's the key... that's my little secret confidence weapon. They also make me feel prettier.  Everyone looks prettier when they're carrying flowers.

I noticed a few months ago that any time I see a messenger on the street with a bouquet of flowers, I secretly hope that the flowers are for me.  Now, why I would be delivered flowers by a messenger on Fifth avenue at two in the afternoon when I clearly live half way across Manhattan is irrelevant.  I see the flowers and still a small part of me hopes.  I took note of that, and then I tucked it away into the further recesses of my mind.

Then, I was writing a couple of weeks ago about what I want from a relationship.  What I want from a man. I compared the way I want to feel about him to be the way I feel about this certain chocolate dessert that a customer brings into my bar on select Wednesdays.  Hard and mature on the outside, but when you bite into it, you experience an amazing explosion of buttery, salty, chocolately decadence.  And that I want to feel about him the way I feel about my ukulele (I may have an unhealthy relationship with said ukulele).  He (the prospective significant other, not the ukulele) takes me out on dates and buys me wonderful gifts for special occasions.  And flowers just because.  It's kind of sad that I'm 27 years old and haven't had that yet.  And then I stopped myself.  Flowers just because?  Why can't I buy myself flowers just because?  Why not?  I deserve it.  I love myself, and I work hard.  I deserve some pretty flowers to make me smile and brighten my apartment.

So now, I buy myself flowers just because.