Monday, May 09, 2005



I know you have bigger customers -- Oprah and Ben Affleck, for instance -- but between Mothers Day, my mother's birthday, my stepmother's birthday, and various other occasions requiring flowers, I still manage to spend roughly $500 per year with you, so I feel I have the right to complain.

Five hundred dollars. In a barter system, that would be 80 bottles of wine... or even 40 bottles of drinkable wine, if I bought that brand. It's the equivalent of 67 packs of cigarettes, or 200 packs of cigarettes purchased in Virginia. Forty-two cab rides home from Posh. One hundred drinks -- plus one hundred generous tips -- at Happy Hour. Six months' worth of MetroCards. One-quarter of one month's obscene Manhattan rent...

Just so we're clear where I'm coming from.

So why haven't the Mothers Day flowers I ordered on Thursday been delivered yet?

Even though you are allegedly tracking them for me, I know the flowers weren't delivered as of yesterday, which was sort of the point of ordering Mothers Day flowers. I know this because I had conversations with my mother and stepmother that went something like this:
Me: Happy Mothers Day!

Mother Figure: Thanks for remembering and taking the time to call.

Me: So... um... did you get any special Mothers Day gifts?

Mother Figure: All the good children and stepchildren sent me very expensive gifts/chocolates/a new car.

Me: Um... anything else?

Mother Figure: No, honey. Thanks for calling, but I want to get off the phone. The good children and stepchildren are taking me to dinner at the world's only 6-star restaurant, and I don't want to be late arriving... arriving behind the wheel of my new car, that is.

Me: Okay. Well, again, Happy M--

Mother Figure: *click*

*dial tone*
Now, if I was hoping for delivery in some out-of-the-way place -- Scottsville, Kentucky, for example -- this might be understandable. But there are two missing orders of roses -- with accompanying vases, at that -- that have gone missing somewhere in New York State's third-largest city... ironically known as 'The Flower City.'

At this point, no matter what you do, my reputation as the world's worst son has been sealed. Mother and Stepmother will never believe that I did, in fact, order the flowers before Mothers Day. However, if you could make these deliveries this morning, maybe I'll get to stay in the wills. As you can see, I am setting my expectations appropriately low.

--Famous Author Rob Byrnes