It's all still a haze . . .

V-Day this year spanned the course of 5 preparatory extended work days, with the final 48 hours being "Game Time." The condition of my soul after this experience cannot be described with words. Nonetheless, these bullet-points will hold you over until you find your own flower shop to work at for the biggest floral holiday of the year.

Mountains and Valleys of Looooove Week:

 6 total hours of sleep within a period of 63 hours. This included waking up at 2:30 a.m. on Valentine's day for work when I had arrived home at 11:30 from work the night before.

♥ Cookies and caffeinated beverages exclusively, due to lack of ability to leave shop, for breakfast and dinner. Lunch never happened, 'cept the Taco Bell run with big brother; I just really needed a Baja Blast and Bean Burrito. This sugar diet sounded great for a while, but after 5 days of it, I never want to see a sugar cookie again. Salad and water it is for the rest of the semester.

 I skipped my Marriage and Family Relations class so I wouldn't have to leave work. Oops. Sorry Husband-To-Be, but while you were out playing pattycake with your friend Pedro, your Sandwich-Machine-To-Be was making 75 bucks (that figure sounded more impressive in my head).

♥ Cutting stems and clipping greenery with one stitched-up finger (I was attacked by a can of green beans -- lesson learned: vegetables are out to kill you) and one fingernail about to fall off (smashed in the door after a dumpster-diving escapade). My painkillers contain caffeine. Double Win.

♥ My feet a 'splode.

♥ The post-V-Day Hangover. It takes two days to fully wear off, and I'm just now nearing the end of it. The first night was characterized by nonsensical babbling to anyone nearby (or not nearby), angry outbursts about the listener's taste in flowers (odd because my personality's generally ultra mild and passive), and falling asleep a minute and 12 seconds into an Audrey Hepburn movie that I'd turned on just to stick it to my parents who I'd demanded to take me home so I could watch a dang movie because no, I was NOT tired. Co-workers reported identical symptoms the next day.

I bashed on someone's preference for carnations.
Turns out they're actually quite awesome, as seen here clumped in hot pink.

And the finale: Watching 2 guys get in a full-blown fight about who got the last red rose. Instead of using synonyms like "banter," "mild disagreement," and "cutting sarcasm," I would use words more like "death glare," "accusation," "threatening," "yelling," and "gnashing of teeth." It was the coolest thing ever. Take note, dudes: saving flower-buying for the last minute on Valentine's Day will bring out the worst in you. Life will be easier for everyone if you place your order for delivery a week in advance. Then you won't have to even think about it until your lady-friend commends you on being the best ever and you'll be like, "Interesting, I don't remember doing anything for you today. This is swell beans." Plus you won't be left waiting in a half-hour-long line to get her the picked over nasty filler flowers. Calling dibs ahead of time on the prettiest long-stemmed, old-fashioned roses and vibrant lilies in stock really makes a difference. Then again, I'm just a biased flower shop girl. 

Another note: I know it's different for everyone, but if you're proposing to a Simpleton like me, don't do it on V-Day. This might be a good time for a fake-out, and then wait another month or two. That way your big ol' fatty bouquet of flowers will cost you half as much as the jacked-up February prices. 

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