Flowered up weekend

Over to Lady C's for dinner on Saturday. Lovely grub and a few bottles of wine. Recommended grape for this summer: Viognier.

I was wondering whether to take flowers or not - couldn't locate a florist in the Archway area that was open and the local Co-Op only had a rather limp and pathetic selection of posies on offer by the potatoes and carrots.
I stared at a wilting carnation, thoughtfully.
Too soon to bring flowers? Does she like flowers? Does she think they're pretty, a piece of advanced evolution to attract pollen-transferrers or a symbol of male chauvinistic domination? All of the above?

I decided against floral action.

That didn't stop me from telling her I almost bought flowers. (I do have to suss her out for possible future bouquet activity, y'know.)

It's like that Wendy Cope poem, she said; the flowers that you never bought me have lasted all this time.

Have found the poem on t'internet:


Flowers

Some men never think of it.
You did. You'd come along
And say you'd nearly brought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.

The shop was closed. Or you had doubts -
The sort that minds like ours
Dream up incessantly. You thought
I might not want your flowers.

It made me smile and hug you then.
Now I can only smile.
But look, the flowers you nearly brought
Have lasted all this while.

Wendy Cope (from Serious Concerns, 1992


Damn. She's good...