So as I’m stumbling into work this morning, late, I see a floral delivery truck pass by and park next door to the warehouse.

I think “Oooh, flowers! I hope he comes to my desk,” and enter the warehouse. Michelle (our graphic artist) is on the phone.

I tell her that there’s a floral delivery man in the area. She asks her boyfriend (with whom she’s speaking) if they’re from him.

They’re not.

So I turn on my Mac and knock knock knock, it’s the flower guy bearing roses. *Beautiful* roses.

The moment of truth…

“Lynn?”

Woo hoo, they’re for me!

I set them down on Michelle’s desk (insult to injury) and sign my name on the “received” line, thank the driver (who thought the sign on our door was far too small), and grab for the card before the door even closes.

Ohmigod! They’re *not* from Kevin!

There is something strangely illicit about receiving flowers from someone other than your significant other.

Especially when that significant other has recently been elevated to Boyfriend status.

So, if you’re the person who sent me flowers with a card that read only “Nice Website,” thanks.

God, I love the Internet!