Well, Valentine’s Day is approaching. I arranged for flowers to be delivered to Karen. Tulips, symbol of fame and of the perfect lover. The tulip, or lale (from Persian لاله, lâleh) as it is also called in Iran and Turkey, is a flower indigenous to a vast area encompassing arid parts of Africa, Asia, and Europe. The gift of a red tulip is considered a declaration of love.
I know I shouldn’t have, but I did it anyway. I even got confused. I meant to order 20 tulips, but I selected the 30 tulip bunch by mistake. Then they charged me extra for delivery on Valentine’s Day. I got so high doing this. I can’t remember being so excited about sending flowers. This could well scare the crap out of her. She might reject and return them to me. She might tell me we have to stop seeing each other. I don’t know. I’m not worried about the outcome. My heart was pumping as I hovered my pointer over the ‘order now’ button. As soon as I pressed it, my pulse raced even higher. I felt so high. I was all smiles. Of course, I did wimp out and send them anonymously, with the following, taken from an earlier posting here (Aug. 5, 2007):
There is an “… Oriental legend about a Persian youth named Ferhad who fell in love with a maiden named Shirin. When Shirin did not accept Ferhad’s feelings for her, he went out into the desert to die from his broken heart. As he pined, each tear that fell into the sand turned into a beautiful tulip.”
Karen will surely know who they’re from. I can’t help it. That’s how I feel about her. I’m dead meat now.