I love fresh flowers. Somewhat especially because they are good for nothing except bringing a little bit of pretty into the house.
I have strange luck with boys and flowers so these days I just buy my own. I once dated a boy that sent me flowers religiously, which was kind and lovely, but I didn’t have the heart to mention I didn’t like the type. I also once dated a boy that would never think to buy a girl flowers even if he watched ever 80s Rom Com in the world. I do however have a darling German best friend who has bought a simple little bunch of pretty whenever he met me at the airport or train station (we used to live in separate countries – but hurray, Germany), and that little gesture has always meant the world to me. Now, I buy flowers because I’ve cleaned the house, because they perk me up and because there’s something wonderful about buying a tiny little something just for the pleasure of it.
As an au pair the little girl and I would wander about the hills around the garden picking wildflowers for her Mamon and the breakfast table. I thought it was so lucky to be surrounded by them (you can see some of them in Fleurs de la Montagne).
Where I live now, although there’s fewer wildflowers in the city, I’m lucky enough to have cheap, fresh flowers sold almost everywhere. For me, there’s something about spending only three euro on something colourful and sweet that makes me happy. If I can afford it – and if the house is clean, I’ll buy myself a little bouquet often, and though it’s not much, it really does make me happy.
Perhaps one day I’ll have a garden.