Petulant Petals

Dickhead: Hey, duuuuuuuuude, how’s it going man?

Crowley: Hello, Dickhead. Nothing much. The usual.

Dickhead: So, who’re you doing these days, man?

Crowley: Nobody at the moment. Why do bother asking?

Dickhead: You’re such a loser, yaar. How come you don’t ever get laid?

Crowley: Look, Dickhead, if I wanted to plumb the insides of every manhole, like you do, I’d call on the public works department, not on my dick.

Dickhead: You need finesse, buddy. Think flowers.

Crowley: Flowers? What’s that got to do with anything?

Dickhead: You give a woman flowers, you get laid. Simple.

Obviously some people, like my friend Dickhead, haven’t experienced the modalities, and tribulations arising thereof, of attracting women with flowers. Or maybe these people are just plain lucky when it comes to pistillaceous offerings.

Despite the fact that Crowley likes giving out flowers on certain days to certain persons, Crowley + flowers + women can be a recipe for disaster. I’ve only given women flowers thrice (women I was trying to date i.e.). Well, ok, twice. The third and most recent attempt didn’t quite fructify.

The first attempt bombed, because the lady in question smelt the bunch of white and yellow lilies I got her, and promptly went and threw up. Yes, she did stuff the flowers in a vase on the way to the bog, so I suppose that counts in my favour.

The second attempt ended up in being odd and uncomfortable-like. I ordered for 10 yellow roses to be sent to mon objet du desir on Valentine’s Day (yes, alright, it was also my birthday and was in a celebratory mood for once). The flower company fucked up and delivered 12 red roses. Naturally, the red-rose intent was always there, but to throw it in somebody’s face on Valentines Day was, perhaps, a little premature. My petition, subsequently, was summarily dismissed, with costs to the counsel for defense.

Today was my third attempt. Flowers for the girlfriend, who sits pretty in rather a far off city. Three hours after placing the order, the swank overseas flower vendor emails me and states that their server is experiencing technical problems, and that they can’t process my credit card payment. Clearly, American online entrepreneurship is no better than the Indian sort.

And, er, yes. I’m not single any longer. So, all stalker-type women please take note. Don’t leave suggestive comments on this blog, and refrain from sending me emails of a similar nature. Said girlfriend is an ace hacker. She sometimes forgoes her double-edged battle axe for avant garde Trojan Horses.