So this happened to me tonight, Modern Philosophers…
I was outside of Hero’s, waiting for my friend Bethany to arrive so we could have dinner and catch up. You might remember Bethany as my cool boss, who abandoned me to take a cushy job at a hospital run by nuns.
The fact that she chose The Nuns over me will haunt me to my grave, but that’s a Deep Thought for another blog post.
As I’m walking to the door, a guy in his early thirties calls out to me from in front of the store next to Hero’s.
He’s well dressed, holding a bouquet of flowers, and has a little girl with him, so I don’t immediately scream “Stranger Danger!” and pull out my fear whistle, but I’m definitely cautious.
“Could you do me a huge favor?” he asks with a big smile on his nonthreatening face.
Being the ever cynical New Yorker I reply, “And what would that favor be?”
All the while, I’m scanning the parking lot to make sure this isn’t a Buffalo Bill situation. I don’t want to agree to help this guy load a couch into his van, and then find myself at the bottom of a creepy well rubbing lotion on my body.
“Could you please go in there and give these flowers to my wife?” he pleads as he holds out the bouquet of roses. “And maybe help me save this marriage?”
The little girl looks up at me hopefully and then yells out, “Mommy sees us!”
I turn to see a blonde at the table near the window stand up and head for the door.
“Is she a blonde?” I ask. “Because it looks like she’s on her way out here.”
“We’re busted,” he replies and hangs his head.
I take that as my cue to leave and pass the woman on my way to the door. Since Bethany is late (what else is new?), and I’ve got nothing better to do, I watch the soap opera unfold.
He hands her the flowers. She takes them begrudgingly. She talks only to the little girl, while the guy looks on in dismay.
The woman returns to the restaurant calling out “I love you” to the girl and holding the flowers like they’re toxic.
The guy looks like he’s going to cry.
“I almost got to give you those flowers,” I say for some reason as she passes.
She smiles and replies, “They’re only twelve years too late.”
Minutes later, a brunette emerges from Hero’s with the flowers. She walks down to where the man and the girl had been standing, disappears from my view momentarily, and then returns without the flowers.
She smiles as she walks past me on her way back inside.
I smile politely in return.
Then I kill time waiting for Bethany’s arrival by trying to figure out exactly what had happened to lead to such an awkward exchange of roses.
I also make a mental note to never do anything that would require my asking a total stranger to give flowers to my sweetheart.
Follow me on Pinterest, and I promise to never ask for flowers…
The Return of the Modern Philosopher 