In the the summer before my senior year a dozen red roses were delivered to our house for my birthday. My sister answered the door and sent them away, confident that no one in our house would be receiving roses. I've always loved that story. When the young man who sent them came over later that afternoon and looked all over the downstairs for the roses he had ordered for me he finally went to my mom and asked her about them. She had no idea that a delivery had been made let alone sent away. He and I jumped into his cab, (he was driving a cab as part-time work as he was learning Korean for a future assignment as an Air Force linguist in Seoul)and spent two very romantic hours trying to track down the errant roses. He was my secret much shorter and older friend of my sister's fiancée who was in love with a beautiful Korean woman, but spent several long afternoons necking with me.
No one ever seemed to think it odd that the roses had been turned away. It was very natural for all of us not consider me the recipient of roses. Funny.
I also received roses from another Airman after returning from my extended vist to Greece. The roses had been ordered from Athens and mistakenly shipped to Alaska before they found there way to my parents' home in Massachusetts two or three weeks later. The blossoms were black and the crisp leaves had disintegrated. Another funny story... but definitely not the romantic ideal. Which was all kind of foreshadowing, as the sender of the long stem black roses was profoundly gay and just teetering on the sill of his Irish, Roman Catholic repressed closet.I was his last "girlfriend" black roses seem the perfect ending to or peculiar romance.
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