Let’s talk about roses for a moment

I’m a watcher. I see things. Perhaps I learn from the things I see, but that’s asking quite a bit. Here’s something I know, however. When a guy gives a girl a flower, it means something. There is symbolism that goes deeper than bone marrow. What you say when you offer a flower is indelible, permanent, and inarguable. If you are lying with your flower, she will suffer, you will suffer, and in the end all of humanity will suffer. It is a foundation of civilization, a sacred trust.

In the pantheon of flowers, at the top there is the rose. Perhaps one can offer daisies lightly, or carnations. If you ever receive a lily from me, watch out. That is not a family of flower I give lightly. But the rose, it stands at the top. There is never a rose given that does not carry weight.

The weight, oddly, is inversely proportional to the quantity. You can give your love a dozen red roses, and she will be happy. But just one rose, alone, is a much more potent symbol. It is not ostentatious; it is something that exists within itself, a completely contained symbol, and the color of the rose means everything. What that color says is something no words will ever amplify, and can never undo.

Red: love. A single red rose, on a crooked stem, still with thorns, is the grandest expression of love possible. Sure, there’ve been some pretty decent sonnets and crap, but this is the one gesture that can never be mistaken. The thorns are critical. The flower is your beloved, and the thorns are part of her. I’ll be going into that in a story, shortly.

White: friendship. This doesn’t mean you don’t love her, it just means that you will do everything in your power to make her happy. Devotion might be a better word than friendship. A single white rose is a profession of love, knowing the love will never be returned.

A dozen pink roses: Hello. Congratulations. Happy Birthday. A single pink rose: Coward. When you give a single rose, know what the hell you’re saying, and say it! Unless your intent is to say “I’m a confused and spineless schmoe,” stay away from the single pink rose.

What brought this up was a couple near me here in the bar. They were all lovey-dovey at first, but then he did something to piss her off. From over here, it looked like she enjoyed being pissed off. I watched the friction for a couple of minutes, and then she picked up the rose. She smelled it, smiled at him, and set it back down. The smile was empty, and the discussion was over. The petals were white, with red tips.

It was a beautiful flower, but the dude had proven himself to be symbolically spineless, and she felt it. I’ll say it one more time. When you hand someone a single rose, you better know what you’re saying with it, because she sure as hell will.

17 thoughts on “Let’s talk about roses for a moment

  1. When I get a rose, I know what time it is: time for me to move on. I have no time for that form of “romance.” I can not love someone that isn’t more creative.

  2. And if you see a guy walk out of a gas station with a single red rose,as I did yesterday, there is a good chance that he just did something stupid. I wonder what he did?

  3. Back when I was attending college in the big city but commuting from the hinterlands, there was a particular gas station where I would fuel up before heading north (because the gas price was good), and right next to the cash register at that gas station was a bucket full of red roses, for sale at a buck apiece. This gas station sold way more roses than candy bars.

  4. True story: My ex gave me pink roses once… in a vase he borrowed from his girlfriend.

    I don’t get that worked up over roses since then.

  5. What I learned was that yellow roses were either for friendship or jealousy — they’re what a guy gives a girl to express anger that she’s left him for somebody else.

    Well, at least that’s better than going out and shooting the other guy, which seems to be the preferred method of expressing jealousy in Albuquerque.

  6. I have a couple of new episodes – really I do. Just having a little bit of technical difficulty here at the heart of the media empire. Please stand by…

  7. Heloise’s Hints For MOHs.
    This one goes out to Cheryl.
    As a pervious office holder I can no longer rule rough shod over the masses. Now I’m a statesman or some shit like that. I have to go to third world blogs and monitor their voting on egg frying.
    But. If I was the MOH, I’d suggest to Jer that he program up a new feature for the side bar, called Typos That Rock!
    Here are two recent typos of Jer’s that deserve the preserve: 1) in the shooting -day three episode, he says he had to turn on the musing instead of turn on the music. 2) in the comments to nursing a blue, he says It may be that writers and artists have the same ups and downs that everyone dies, instead of everyone does.

  8. Last night, my and Dr. Pants’ gravatars were coming through as blank black boxes, but others were OK; now, Jerry’s gravatar is also blank, and I’d guess others are too.

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