I told them that i don’t mind buying a rose but more than one rose is impractical.
“Thank god we aren’t her” they said.
That’s why I’m writing this post because more than one rose is really impractical. For all the guys out there who are about to buy a dozen red roses here is a word of advice don’t. Stop yourself. What is she going to do with all those roses? You know how the world works and that roses all die no matter what you do to them. They become withered and spent, they turn from these full-cheeked statements of love to ashy, drooping reminders of mortality and the fact that love many times is a lie that leaves us cold and unable to trust again. Is that what you want to give her for valentines?
Do you want to give her-take your time to remember her, she’s the one who makes you smile, she’s the reason you give up so many nights out with the boys, she’s the reason you drink so much less and most of all she’s the reason you are about to go to a merchant and make the painful purchase of 12 blush-red full-stemmed dethorned rose
Is this who you want to give 12 reminders (one for every month of the year) that your love like those roses may just die an ignominious death and then hang around the house for a little longer. Turning into an ugly avatar of what it once was. Nope you only want to give her one of those reminders. Don’t worry, I got you, this time valentine’s is on a Saturday so there won’t be the moment when she only gets one rose in her classroom or office and has to endure the looks of scorn because her beau is such an amazing cheapskate. Now she can get one rose in the privacy of her home and know it by herself, I won’t leave you hanging though what you need to do is justify all this with the note.
In the note all you have to do is write the story of the farmer and the single rose. This story does not exist. Until write now, like all other stories it comes into being by being told so slip her note that says this:
“My lady what you have in your lap is a single rose. A lot has been told of the power of a single rose that it like a snowflake, like the love between two people cannot be replicated. The petals of one rose have been compared to the memories of a couple, because you have to tear through so many stories and experiences before you can fully realise what this love is truly about. This is why I believe our love will endure it has been enclosed by something, something which at the same time broadcasts its beauty to the rest of the world.
There is only one rose here because I recently heard the story of the rose and the farmer, just in case you haven’t heard it, it is a legend set in a world a long, long time ago-the world of half-remembered dreams and fully realised memories where childhood monsters and gods walk.
A young man was walking down a path in a forest so overgrown with bush that a full-grown dog could run between them without being spotted. A coconut fell from a tree and hit him on his head and he fainted. When he woke up in front of him was a single rose. I should explain that the world he lived in and the village he came from had never seen a rose before. The trees and plants simply sprung up afresh from the shit of the inhabitants who had ingested vegetables-no deforestation possible. So he looked at this wonder before him. In it he saw the face of life and when he held it to his nose he could smell the breath of god.
For a long spiritual moment he stood, unable to move. Then he made a prayer to the gods unable to believe that anything as beautiful as this should not be shared amongst the rest of humanity. The godess who had placed it before him descended from the heavens. She gave him the secret to the growing of roses and parted on a dire note. She told him that many who have held on to beauty have given it up for riches and found too late that the only thing that truly makes you feel wealthy is not an abundance of money but of that which you love.
Our hero farmer made his way back to the village and started a small garden. It took him a year but in that time he came up with 12 perfect roses each more beautiful than the last. Wonders so exquisite he wept as he pulled them up from their roots. He gave them to all the women he loved. His mother who had raised him as a child, his sisters with whom he had played and felt most comfortable, his aunts who had taught him to respect women, his friend who had shown she would be there for him and to the woman to whom he had lost his heart. This was a sacrifice from the heart and he was rewarded by more from the goddess.
A year and he realised that he could convert this beauty into money if all he did was sold it. There was nothing wrong with the money he made. There is beauty in that too. But he got greedy and with time the roses started changing, when he priced them so high that only the millionaires could afford them they began to grow thorns that pricked him as he tended them. In his quest to grow more and more of the roses he lost sight of what was important to him before.
The beauty of a single rose is something that he no longer remembered and with time he spoiled the women in his life with jewellery and other baubles- things that he could buy in the market that were cold to the touch. That meant nothing to him that because of this meant nothing to them. He grew more and more distant from his life’s work and soon all he could see when he saw a rose was more-more power, more wealth, more…
Until like all quests for wealth in fairy tales laden with moral teaching about the beauty of love and the need for appreciation he was left alone as an old man in piles of wealth that could not bring him back the joy of youth. He had stopped seeing the single roses in his life a long time ago and in time life also took away his sight. With time he saw the error of his ways and mended the things that had gone wrong in his life. On his deathbed he was able to gather generations of his family around him and when he was asked what he regretted most he said that he wished he had never allowed himself to look past the beauty of a single rose. But then he changed his mind and said that being separated from his passion and removed from the joy it gave him allowed him to see his family as the most important thing in his life.
My lady, the point of this story is that we should never gloss over the important individual moments. We should always appreciate the day we met, the first time we kissed, the first time we spent the night together. All our firsts and the seconds they led to sometimes within seconds (my great recovery time is something I’ll expound on more tonight.) but if we carry around more than petals and allow them to become bunches and bouquets it will be too easy for us to forget the things that we love about each other. A petal for the way you laugh when someone falls down, a petal for the way you sound when you wake up, a petal for the sway of your hips, a petal for the jokes that only you understand, a petal for reminding me just how lucky I am for what we have together. A rose for this thing we built together because I can’t imagine anything being more perfect than this. ”
One rose guys. What will she do with twelve, how will she get them home? One rose. Then forgerraboutit.