Flowers for your love

Yesterday I rolled out of bed at 11:30 after a very rough night of watching the most depressing BBC show I have ever seen, Broadchurch. I grabbed my shower caddy, slipped on my flip flops, threw my towel over my air, and opened the door. I almost knocked them over, but they were so massive I saw them before disaster struck. There was a bouquet of flowers in front of my door.

I stood there, staring at them. I crinkled my nose and shut the door, hiding them from view. I set my things down and opened the door again, but they were still there. And they were massive. The damn thing was bigger than my head. They looked like something that should decorate a wedding. What? Who could have given me these?

I set them down on the floor and began looking for a card, but there was none. The first thing that went through my head was “Oh, god, someone put them in front of the wrong door.” But then I remembered how my name is literally plastered all over my door, so that was mostly ruled out. Who could they have come from? You need access to get into this building… unless someone let them in?

I left the flowers on the floor and took a shower, still pondering their origin. When I got back into my room, they were still there. I took some pictures and sent them to my mother and best friend, and they both were shocked and asked if I had a suitor, to which I replied “I have no idea.” I have been talking to two guys, one who lives off campus and would need access, one who lives on campus and has access. I asked them both and unless one of them is lying to me, they said no. Everyone on Facebook (I posted the picture there) commented saying “Ooooo looks like someone has a secret admirer!” which only adds to the fear I feel. I don’t like secrets, nor do I like admirers, so the whole concept is sketchy to me. 

So here I sit, staring at the mysterious bouquet of flowers gracing the top of my microwave as they taunt me. 


About returntoneverland

All around procrastinator, screw-up extraordinaire.
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