I recently treated myself to an all-girl, five-day Greek holiday, from Mykonos to Santorini. Words that describe the experience: Beautiful! Amazing! Inspiring! Delicious! Mind-blowing! There’s a very real danger that I’ll sound like a broken record, encouraging every woman I know to make a similar trip a priority. But I need to get back on track. The point of this post isn’t my trip to Greece, lamb gyros or donkey rides; it’s about what happened when I got back.
One bouquet was thoughtfully arranged in the living room, and the other was in my bedroom.
After 4+ hours on a small EasyJet place, I was back in London. My boyfriend was waiting for me in my apartment with not one, but TWO bouquets of my favorite flowers—yellow and pink tulips.
My heart skipped a beat as I went through 3 stages, one after the other: Confusion, delight, and guilt. As it was the first time I had received flowers from a significant other, I didn’t know how I should feel. Then, I was touched by his genuinely thoughtful and refreshing gesture. And finally, I was a bit ashamed that I sincerely enjoyed having received them.
Allow me to me explain myself. I have always been a bit of quiet feminist. I show this in small ways rather than coming right out and singing, “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.” I would rather have back pains than let a guy carry something for me, I prefer to drive my own ATV/scooter/jet ski thank-you- very-much, I’ve always gone out of my way to say, “let’s plan Valentine’s day together,” I don’t like receiving jewelry, you get the drift….
From day one, I have told my boyfriend that if he’d like to surprise me to spend the money on a decadent dessert or a great book rather than flowers, insisting that I am not that type of girl. But he’s noticed that I buy them for myself and let out an “awwww” when someone passes us on the street with a bouquet in hand.
I’m not sure exactly what I thought or why, but I’ve always had a weird grudge about getting flowers. Perhaps I thought of receiving flowers as a cliched girly thing, and I was scared that it would throw off the balance of equality in the relationship.
Whatever it stemmed from, it’s gone, tossed out the window and smashed to smithereens by a big, manly Mack truck. I am openly admitting that I love flowers, and I don’t care how girly it makes me seem. How many things have I missed out because I was scared to be thought of as too girly? Bring on the flowers, the butterflies, and the pink.
Read all of Bianca Cuffia’s posts here.
