Monkey Shines

I have this vision. I am dressed like a ninja, gripping my trusty Florian Ratchet-Cut gardening pruners. I sneak from desk to desk and…snick…snick…snick….cut the heads off of every rose in all the bouquets delivered to the office for Valentine’s Day.

There is nothing like Valentine’s Day to make single women feel like Janice Ian at seventeen.

Don’t get me wrong. I love being single. I look at the coupled people around me and, but for a very few, I know that I could never live in their shoes. I don’t answer to anyone. I come and go as I want. I spend my money as I like. I cook or I don’t cook. I clean or I don’t clean. I never argue with myself and I never leave the toilet seat up. There is no lack of love in my life. I am surrounded by friends and family who care about me. My dogs, Sandy and Mel, give me all the hugs I need.

Then along comes Valentine’s Day. The deliveries start as soon as the office opens. Bouquets in all shapes and sizes are ushered in. Some are single roses. Some are outrageous displays too heavy to carry. Some arrive in boxes and must be assembled. Some are cookie bouquets, some are chocolate covered fruit. With each delivery, the women in the office oooh and ahhh. The cards are read aloud. Soon, almost every cubicle has visible proof of someone’s love and devotion in a vase.

I plan to buy a bag of Brach’s conversation hearts and eat the whole thing without reading a single message.