Sunday, 16 February 2014

Roses are red (and half dead)

So did you have a nice Valentine’s Day?  My own was...predictable!  On the eve of Valentine’s Day, Mr V came home from work with a freshly licked down scarlet envelope and half a dozen red roses in cellophane.
          ‘I’ve got to be up early tomorrow morning,’ he said, ‘so have these now.’
          ‘Gosh, thanks!’ I took the roses and waited for three little words to be delivered.
          ‘Nice, eh?’
          Only two words.
          ‘Red roses.’
          Still only two words.
          ‘Yes, I can see that.
          Luxury red roses.’
          Okay, that was three words.  But not quite the three words I was waiting for.’
          ‘So why are they luxury roses?’ I asked, running scissors along the cellophane.’
          ‘Because it says so here,’ Mr V pointed, ‘see?  Luxury red roses.’
          I peeled back the cellophane and pulled out the thorny stems.  A flurry of petals and leaves fell at my feet.
          ‘Careful!’ cautioned Mr V.  He wasn’t worried about the thorns on my fingers, you understand, only the depletion of petals from the roses.  Duty done, he edged towards the television.  ‘Soprano night,’ he explained.
          I found a vase and popped the already drooping roses into water.  Viva la romance!
          Meanwhile my daughter and her friends had had a visitor to their college on Valentine’s Day – an NHS van offering free chlamydia tests.  How romantic.  Not.   And, as a thank you to every female agreeing to be tested, there was the offer of a free pair of Valentine boxer shorts smothered in hearts.  The girls dithered.  Did they want to do the test?  No.  Did they want the boxers?  Yes!  So they all trooped into the examination room, took the long-stemmed cotton tip, went behind the curtain…and ran the cotton tip around their mouths.  They then accepted the boxer shorts and skipped off.  I’m not quite sure what results the NHS will get, but you have to admire the girls’ strategic thinking.  I’ll bet there were an awful lot of lads in Dartford getting boxer shorts as their Valentine gifts.
          My son’s partner, however, knew how to celebrate in style.
          ‘I’m taking you to the most romantic restaurant in London.  But I’m not telling you the name.  It’s a surprise.’
          I instantly hit the internet and Googled most romantic restaurant in London.  And up came the answer.  I nearly fell off my computer chair.  Now that was indeed a romantic restaurant.  I shall keep the number and drop lots of hints to Mr V for next Valentine’s Day.
          Which reminds me.  Why did the banana go out with the prune?  Because it couldn’t get a date…

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