Flowers. Buy them. Today. Give them to her for no reason.
It’s simple. You wrote me for advice, so here it is. You’re seventeen years old and you want her to notice you. Flowers.
Here’s the way I see it:
You want to stand out from a herd of average Joes, right? So, let’s have a look at this flock of seventeen-year-old Joes closely—don’t forget to plug your nose, some Joes haven’t learned about Speed Stick yet.
So here we are. Can you see them? Do you notice anything?
I do. Many have cellphones in their hands. They aren’t even LOOKING at each other. They’re staring at electronics.
Sure, these boys might be more handsome, more athletic, or more popular than you are. Their families might be wealthy. Their fathers might own golf clubs that are more expensive than the average human liver.
So what? I’ll bet you five bucks those boys don’t buy flowers.
And that’s not an opinion, it’s a statistic. Studies show that American boys don’t buy flowers like they used to. I don’t want to get into the numbers here, but let’s just say that floral purchases among young males are down. Way down.
Boys quit buying flowers right around the time Andy Griffith went off the air. Somewhere along the way, text messages and Snapchat took over the world. And if you ask me—which you didn’t—that’s a crying shame.
Just the other night, for instance, I saw two teenagers in a pizza joint. They were sitting on opposite sides of a booth.
The young woman was drumming her fingers on the table, staring into the distance. Bored. The young man was on his phone.
Then, without warning, the young man stood. He slid into the seat beside the girl. He pressed his shoulders against hers. They smiled. He held his phone outward. Selfie time.
He spent the rest of the night giggling, staring at the blue light in his hand.
So buy flowers because they aren’t electronic. Buy them because they are among the few things left without mini-nuclear-computers inside them.
Buy them because your mother thinks it’s a good idea. Buy them because once upon a time, your granddaddy’s granddaddy gave flowers to someone he loved.
Hand them to her. Smile. Look her in the eye. Don’t worry about being confident. Just be you.
Some folks might tell you confidence attracts a girl, and maybe it does. But confidence is short-lived. In real life, it comes and goes. It can be stolen from you.
If you ask me—and remember, you didn’t—you owe it to yourself to be humble. Nobody can steal a man’s humbleness.
A man who is strong enough to be humble is a brave man.
No. You might not have movie-star cheekbones. Join the crowd, brother. Some of us have faces that were practically made for radio. But the universe sees us. And it doesn’t make us any less pretty.
But then, what does it matter what I think?
It doesn’t. I’m just some middle-aged guy who hopes you know that there is a pasture of life ahead of you. A long one. It’s a world of clouds, hillsides, country roads, bluebirds, and moments so wonderful they’ll make you cry.
One day, if you’re fortunate enough to become an old man, I hope you are lucky enough to have your best friend beside you. And I hope she is someone who is with you during good times and hard ones.
I hope you are unafraid to hold her hand or kiss her cheek. I hope you touch her gray hair while she sleeps, without saying anything to wake her. I hope you realize that being seventeen only lasts for a little over three hundred days.
Flowers never die.