special delivery

The other day I picked up a flower for my boyfriend on the way home from work. He'd been having a rough day -- getting your car dented and then towed on consecutive days will do that -- and we have a longstanding tradition of bringing each other a single flower of a particular type as a statement of love or support. I spent a little while picking out the perfect one and then headed for the T with my expertly-wrapped bloom. That's when it struck me how much someone carrying a flower is an attention magnet. If you ever want to transform yourself in five minutes or less from an average everyday commuter into a person of great intrigue and mystery, get yourself a flower (a full bouquet is unnecessary). Other people who would have barely acknowledged you before suddenly stare at you openly with curiosity, envy, or -- particularly true of other women -- a mix of both. The funny thing is that I'm sure almost everyone who saw me assumed I was the flower's recipient. I wonder how many even considered the possibility that I was actually the bestower. Or, if it did cross anyone's mind, they probably assumed I was a lesbian. I just think that getting a surprise flower delivery is too nice an event to be enjoyed exclusively by 50% of the population.