Excuse Me, Boy Who Gave Me a Flower?

Is that really you? Wow, small world. Yeah, yeah, I've been great. Going to school, reading, spending time on the internet . . . and, you know, going to lots of parties with drugs and hookers and stuff. And yourself? Oh, how lovely for you.

Look, I don't mean to be forward, but I need to get something off my chest with you. Retract your hand. I didn't mean that.

You see, Flower Boy, I've been thinking about you lately. You want to know why? Because whatever we could've had was ruined by your lack of balls.

You're right, that was kind of harsh -- I'm sorry. No I'm not.

The thing is, you were the first person who's ever given me flowers. Why would you even bring that up? Yes, I know it was technically a single flower, but dontcha think it helps your case if we pretend it was more? Imagination is a rainbow.

But I digress.

Point being, we could've had something, because I was dazzled by your froufrou card and brightly colored vegetation. Cross my heart, you could've been a dead ringer for Gary Busey and I would've fallen all over you -- because you gave me my first flower.

Really, are you twelve? Not that flower. I'm trying to have an adult conversation here, stunted-romanticist to stunted-romanticist. Hang with me.

But you blew it, turtledove. You blew it because it was anonymous. You gave me an anonymous present. At first this didn't bother me, because I was certain you would identify yourself at a later date. Well, as my French professor would say, "J'ai eu tort." I was wronger than Kanye West at the VMA's.

Well, yes, I know Kanye was wrong as in "improper" and I was wrong as in "incorrect" but I was just trying to be funny. You know what, no one cares what you think about Taylor Swift's feelings. Can we just move on? I have a conclusion here I'd like to make.

I don't know what you felt for me, anonymous-flower-boy, but I do know this: whatever it was, you should've told me. Giving me that pretty flower and then letting it wilt without me ever knowing your name is like writing your girlfriend a break-up note on a molding Cheez-It -- it's dirty and upsetting.

I've moved on now, AFB, to someone who isn't an emotional coward, to someone who has the drive to go after what he wants without dropping cryptic gifty hints before class then leaving me to hang. I'm happy, and I'm sure you are too, but I can't help but thinking about it some nights when I'm fighting sleep.

Who knows: Maybe you'd have changed the course of my unborn children's future if you'd just grown a pair.

Sorry, that's my order -- I've gotta fly. Aw, don't look at me like. Remember, it takes less muscles to smile!