These flowers are over one week old. Like the first flowers I ever received (at a swim meet from a boy whom I had met at an academic awards ceremony), I did not expect to receive these (at Hillside café, when I turned around from pushing a cart of bottled water, napkins, and yogurt cups across the floor). I am not sure I necessarily wanted either bouquet.
I received this bouquet last Thursday; I changed the water twice; I never added the plant food. Yet, the blossoms still smile sunnily out of their clear plastic cup on our common room end table. Meanwhile, I seem to pick more dead leaves off the hanging plant I bought for my room every day. Why is it that the things I attempt to cultivate and nurture always wither and die, while those I tend to ignore flourish and persist?
The God of Irony is laughing.