Today, two dozen yellow roses were delivered to my mother at her house. The last time I had flowers delivered to her three months ago, a massive fail happened, as the FedEx delivery guy decided that since no one answered the ringing doorbell that he would take the liberty of throwing the flower box over the gate. Needless to say, my parents came home to a dented cardboard box, and when they opened it, at least six of the 24 pink cymbidium orchid blossoms had been destroyed. I called the Bouqs to complain, and they issued me the full credit back to my account. I guess we can say that today’s delivery was “free.”
I called her after work, and she said, “What do you think you are, some millionaire? Why did you send me flowers again! It’s such a waste of money!” I know she loves them, as yellow is her favorite color, and few things put a bigger smile on my mother’s face than a vase filled with yellow roses. I told her that they were technically free, and then she got all excited, probably valuing her flowers even more now that she knew her daughter didn’t spend a hundred bucks on them.
“Stop and smell the roses.” Sadly, this is something my mother doesn’t know how to do.