Hopelessly Romantic?
Do you know what makes someone hopelessly romantic? Flowers. I don’t know why that should be the case. It’s a rather big concept that can and does include a lot of different things, gestures, moods. But somehow, whenever ‘romance’ comes up the conversation always turns back to flowers.
There’s probably a market ploy in recent history somewhere. Whenever something to do with human courtship gets this closely linked with something seemingly unrelated, you can blame it on a marketing campaign. Like deBeers did with diamonds and engagement rings.
Case in point, a conversation I had with some parents (mommies and daddies) at the birthday party of my sister-in-law’s nephew. The boy is the same age as my boy, we are now ‘extended family’ so we got invited. The conversation turned to ‘places we would want to visit one day’ and I was lamenting the fact I might never get to do one of the things on my list (because global warming); I want to spend a night in one of those ice-hotels.
That earned me a lot of odd looks. Why would I want to freeze myself for a night? Well, aside from it being magically beautiful, I don’t want to be there alone. I explained the point was sleeping naked with a lover on a bear skin, snuggled close to each other for warmth. Since I was still getting those odd looks I finished my story with “Come on, don’t you have any romance in your soul?”
But, since over half of these couples were Dutch, and the Dutch seem to be allergic to romance, my question got answered with “So, do you have any other disorders?”
And from there people started bragging how unromantic they are, how unromantic their partners were and above all, how they never bought or received flowers.
(for those of you who are thinking ‘oh, she writes a lot of fiction, this is probably a slightly fictional account’, no. They were proud of their unromantic status and were in fact bragging.)
I am proud to say I am romantic, which made me to odd one out and fair game for small barbs for the rest of the evening regardless of what the conversation turned to. (Growing up bilingually: “I do sometimes dream in languages other than Dutch” “Yeah, but you’re romantic. You probably dream in French.”)
The funny thing is I don’t like getting or giving flowers. I have gotten flowers for various occasions, including from lovers, and while I appreciate the thought, it always seems a little pointless to me. I make fun of it some times.
“I got you these mutilated plant genitalia to symbolize my feelings for you”
“How kind, let me put them in water so they die slower.”
I can see romance in so many things. I can find it in the anywhere I look. The most romantic thing I read recently is a quote from Dan Savage, who has a fetish and kink sex-advice column.
A long-term relationship is a myth two people create together. It’s not chemistry, it’s not math, it’s not engineering. It’s a story we tell each other, a story we tell others, and a story we tell ourselves. — Dan Savage
I can’t see the romance in flowers.
I am a romantic. And in a lot of ways I am hopeless. But I guess I am just not a hopeless romantic.
