As I mentioned before, Tuesday was Steve’s 22nd birthday, and Chris and I bought him some flowers, amongst other things. In the comments on that post, I jokingly lamented that I’d never been given any flowers. At least, not until tonight.
We were all out this evening at Waxy O’Connor’s in the city centre (aside: we were lucky to be able to find our way back out of the place, with its labyrinthine internal layout) to officially celebrate Steve’s birthday, and once we’d been there for a couple of hours, we were graced by the arrival of Scott. Now, Scott had read the comments here on my blog, and was thus of course carrying a bunch of flowers he’d bought just for yours truly. And yes, I was pleased. You got a problem with that, buddy?
Scott, cheers for that, dude; much appreciated! I now perhaps better understand why women love getting flowers so much (which reminds me, I have an errand to run later), and I heartily recommend to the ladies that they buy an appropriate guy some flowers in the near future. Let’s break down those gender stereotypes and all that, and embrace this metrosexual age. God knows Derek does.
Hmm. For all my spouting of ultra-politically-correct dogma there, I nevertheless still feel the need to reassert my masculinity and heterosexuality a bit. In which case: tits.