I'm Not Exactly What You'd Call Traditional. Or Normal. Crazy is a Better Descriptor....

I had 3 reasons for waiting till the weekend to go back to the jewelers:

1. Mandy and Jenny were coming up to Boston for a quick "girls weekend" and I could get a second and third rational opinion;
   
2. It gave the Banshee an opportunity to chill the fuck out about the ring and give me time to see if I really wanted it; and
   
3. If I waited till after Valentine's Day, then maybe I could get them to come down in price, or the very least make them have pity on me for going through a divorce on Valentine's day (the most "romantic day of the year" fake or not...)

Saturday morning, Valentine's Day, Mandy's flight got into Logan bright and early. The plan was to pick her up, swing by my apartment, and meet up with Jenny at Polly's for lunch and an afternoon of girl talk. Then later that night, Mandy and I - the two single gals - were hitting the city for a night of dancing, drinking and a little debauchery if we were lucky.

It was sunny, and rather warm for February, and when I woke up that morning, I remember feeling great. Better than great. I was happy. But more than that. I felt confident. I couldn't even tell you the last time I felt that way. It had been so long, it took me awhile to even figure out what the hell the feeling was, it was so foreign.

Confident. Content. Happy. Excited to see my girls.

At 9:30 I jumped in the car, dropped a little Madonna in the CD player (The Immaculate Collection if you must know) and set off down the highway to the airport. Mandy's flight was right on time, and we set off to Whole Foods to pick up a few things for the dinner I was hosting the next night at my apartment.

By the time we got back, it was almost 11:30 and as we headed to the elevator, gabbing the entire time, I noticed the mail had been delivered.

"Hold on a sec," I said, setting my bag of groceries down inside the elevator. "I wanna see if I got any Valentines." Mandy could tell from my tone I was being sarcastic.

"Oooooooh it looks like somebody got some Valentine's day flooooooowers" I snarked, noticing a giant box from Kabloom laying underneath the bank of mailboxes in the lobby as I approached. "What dumb ass guy would blow his money on roses on Valentine's Day from Kabloom of all places."

I am not a Valentine's kinda girl. Never have been. It's a silly, made up holiday designed to give those men that couldn't be bothered at any other point in time during the year, an opportunity to show their wives/girlfriends that they are not in fact total asshats.

But I'm not opposed to getting a Valentine. You know. If someone wanted to give me one. I wouldn't turn it away or something.

As I approached my mailbox, I glanced down at the box of flowers, sitting there. Suddenly, my heart was pounding, my ears were hot. My knees were weak. I was seeing spots and grabbed for the wall to steady myself because I thought I was going to faint. You see, they were addressed to me...

"Are you okay?" Mandy asked, grabbing the bags out of the elevator and running up to me. "What's wrong?"

I couldn't speak. All I could do was point. To the box. That was staring up at me, mocking me and now Mandy, with my name written all over it.

Mandy of course, found this hysterical. Me? Not so much.

Flowers? on Valentine's Day? For ME?! Why were the relationship gods fucking with me here?

"Who do you think they're from?" Mandy teased, as she bent down to pick up the box off the floor. There was no way I was touching it.

We got up to my apartment, and I put away the groceries, ignoring the flowers.

"Aren't you going to open them up?"

"No," I said flatly.

"Why not?"

"Why not? WHY NOT?! Mandy. This is ME we are talking about here. No matter who sent me those flowers, they are a fucking idiot. They clearly don't know me well enough to understand the implications of what this means. I mean, really, there are two choices," I ranted on, pacing between the kitchen and living room "Maybe 3 as to who sent them. The first and obvious person is Peter. But Peter? He knows better, at least he should. He watched not one but TWO guys in college get the old heave-ho from me because they sent me flowers. Peter knows, flowers are the kiss of death. Besides. We are not in a flower giving stage of our relationships, all the MORE reason if they ARE from him, that I'd have to put an end to all contact with whatsoever."

Mandy just stared at me, smirking as I went on in my tirade.

"The second obvious choice is Joe. Which if it WERE Joe, it would be a pretty big fucking deal because the guy hadn't done anything for me for Valentine's day since our first year together. Talk about too fucking little too fucking late. And why would he send them to me? Huh? To try and win me back? Is this supposed to be the "grand gesture" at winning me back? Well, if it is, he's got another thing coming to him. He's outta his mind if he thinks roses are gonna be enough to get me back. He can't possibly be that stupid."

Mandy raised an eyebrow with her smirk to that statement.

"Okay, yes. Fine. He could be that stupid. And the other obvious answer is my parents. They would likely do something like that. Maybe," I said, walking away, back into the kitchen to finish putting away the groceries.

"Well you're never going to know, unless you open them and read the card."

"You can just throw the damn things away. I don't want to know."

"You don't mean that."

"Oh no. I do. I totally do. You wanna know so bad, you open it up."

No sooner had I said that, Mandy tears into the box. I hear laughter erupt and I poke my head through the pass through window.

"What? What's so funny. They're from my parents, aren't they, and I got all worked up into a tizzy for nothing, didn't I?"

Mandy said nothing. She just handed me the card. It was typed, from the store, and simply said, "Happy Valentine's Day".

There was no signature. No "from". No "love" No clue as to who sent them.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?"

Mandy is practically rolling on the floor at this unexpected turn of events.

"Who fucking does that? Who sends flowers anonymously on Valentine's Day?! That's fucked up. That's cruel. That's so incredibly wrong in so many ways!" I exclaimed.

"I think they're from Peter," Mandy said.

"Well, I'm convinced now more than ever that they're from Joe."

"Why don't you call him and ask him then?

"What?! No. There is NO way I'm calling anybody to say, um, did you send me flowers today? because if they did not, they would think that I had some kind of expectation for receiving flowers from them and I did not. No. not calling."

Mandy put the flowers in a vase with water since I was refusing to accept or acknowledge their existence, and we headed over to Polly's.

We were greeted at the door by Polly's husband who took our coats and directed us into the living room. I immediately flopped onto the couch next to Jenny.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Before I could say a word, Mandy chimed in, "she got flowers. Roses. Delivered to the apartment."

"ooooooooh how nice! who were they from?" Polly asked.

"It's not nice and I have no idea."

Mandy kindly explained the situation, getting everyone up to speed. We discussed the merits of my two options for who sent them, and the appropriate reaction I should be having, as opposed to the one I was having.

"You and flowers. I swear to god, you are the only girl I know who takes getting flowers as a bad thing. You know, most girls LOVE getting flowers." Jenny stated.

"I DO love getting flowers. At the appropriate times in a relationship. Given who the flowers could be from, neither of these times are APPROPRIATE!" I tried to explain, failing miserably.

I never could, still don't, understand why it was (is) that getting flowers invokes such a negative response from me.

Just as we were sitting down to have lunch, my phone rang. We all looked at each other, knowing that the person on the other end was the likely instigator of my emotional distress - the sender of the flowers.

Without even looking to see who it was, I answered.

"Hello?" I asked, almost afraid to hear whose voice it was on the other end.

"Did you get my delivery?"

I couldn't decide if I was disappointed or relieved to finally know which guy it was...