On The Perils of Buying Flowers As A Bloke

First up, cards on the table. I don’t know flowers. I’m never excited by them. Not my thing. It’s not a dislike, just an apathy.

Anyway, as mentioned yesterday, today we’re off to a wine-tasting, and I was out buying flowers as a gift for the people hosting us. And herein lies a big problem.

Because I have no idea what to buy. And I think most blokes fall into this trap. We are, of course, generally the ones who are meant to buy flowers. It’s the great romantic gift. Women of all ages love getting flowers, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who buys them far less than he should.

There is a big problem. Somewhere in the back of my mind is the feeling that I’ve been told that certain flowers are for certain things. You don’t buy black roses, or something, or maybe even red roses, except for some special occasion. So should I not be buying a yellow orchid for someone because it’s meant to be a sympathy thing when their great aunt dies? Should I not buy a live pot of ivy, because it actually indicates that I want to poison their best friend? How am I meant to know?

And that’s not coming to the second key problem. As someone who is basically apathetic about the things, how on earth can I tell what looks good, what looks gaudy and tasteless, what looks hideously dull, or what looks tatty and barren. I just have no idea.

As blokes, what are we meant to do? I think the only thing you can do is trust the florist. But, really, there’s always that nagging feeling at the back of your mind that they’re just having some fun with you because you’re an ignorant idiot.