I have always been a victim of my own imagination.
As a kid I lived inside my head. This habit was only perpetuated by my constant viewing of movies. In particular, romantic comedies and melodramatic foreign films. It was quite common of me to spend the weekend by myself in front of the TV day dreaming about my life and how I wanted it to be more like the movie I was watching. These day dreams would eventually turn into bizarre and ridiculous scenarios that always ended with me finding the love of my life. At one point I remember vividly imagining myself winning an Oscar. In the scene, Robert De Niro (I of course called him Bobby) would present me the award for best Supporting Actress. The situation was even more exciting because as we left the stage Robert would confess his undying love for me. Oh my!
I think this constant movie watching led to me having stereotypical visions of what romance and relationships were supposed to be like. Of course I was clueless. I was an awkward, purple haired, chubby girl in high school and my experience with boys was limited. (Note: When I say limited I mean nonexistent). I was always the quintessential side-kick to the prettier girl. Boys did not notice me. Now don’t get me wrong – I never had a problem with this role because I adored my friendships and I really loved being the confidant.
Of course as I got older, I eventually did have boyfriends (Yippee for finally having sex!) and quickly found out that romance/relationships are much more complicated than any movie ever portrayed. (You taught me nothing Meg Ryan!) But even with this knowledge, one lingering romantic fantasy still floats around in my brain like a half inflated balloon. I am obsessed with the idea of receiving flowers.
I guess the reason why this romantic idea still persists is because no one has ever given me flowers. Insert sympathetic “Awwwww” noise right here.
Now of course there have been times when boys have promised flowers but each time they failed to deliver and each time my heart would totally break. I realize I should be much tougher than this and generally I am hard as balls. But when it comes to flowers I go all soft on the inside and turn into a sappy teenage girl.
So a few years back while I was in a Costo (the place where romance and credit limits die) a bouquet of 24 white roses caught my eye. I lingered and smelled and fondled those roses like they were the hot IT guy. I wanted those roses so bad! But there was this voice inside my head that kept telling me no reasonable woman would buy herself roses for no reason. Thankfully, I rarely listen to myself.
Below is a video of me and my roses on that fateful day.
That simple act became a habit and to this day I buy flowers regularly. Of course each time I do there is always one person asking me who bought the flowers or for what occasion I bought them for. I always respond defiantly, “I bought them for myself!”
Unknowingly, this all led to an even more permanent action. During my last trip to New York (with my wonderful friend Amber) I got two roses tattooed to each of my shoulders. (Thank you Saved Tattoos!) This was the first time I ever got a tattoo on the front of my body, so initially I was quite nervous . But now I find myself constantly touching them and staring at them in the mirror and as vain as it seems – they make me feel so pretty!
So I guess its true….I am hopeless romantic … and I do want to be given flowers…but until that day, I am doing fine keeping my own vase full. (Someone please appreciate that naughty metaphor!)
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