Girls like flowers, so buy her flowers. It’s that simple. You’re fifteen, she’s fifteen. Not enough fifteen-year-olds give flowers anymore.
When I was fifteen, my uncle once sent my aunt flowers. It was like the Second Coming took place on the porch.
My aunt told me, “Lotta problems could be solved if boys bought flowers now and then.”
I’m inclined to agree. I know bouquets get a bad reputation among fellas your age,—which is a shame—but these boys are missing out.
There’s nothing more exhilarating than standing on a doorstep, wondering if she’ll like zinnias, if she’ll like you, or whether her father has violent tendencies.
Also, I feel obliged to tell you, this new girlfriend isn’t just a girl. This is a human.
The problem, of course, is that each underwear ad, swimsuit magazine, and perfume commercial is trying to make her into something else.
This world has done women wrong. It’s ruined their confidence. It expects them to be scholars, nannies, interior decorators, chefs, maids, and ER nurses. It tells them to be leaner, tanner, taller, slimmer, faster, trendier, sleeker, and blonder.
And if that doesn’t break your heart, let me tell you about the sixteen-year-old whose boyfriend told her she was fat.
He made fun of her. She went on a diet. Dyed her hair. She eventually lost a few sizes, then she had a few bouts with anorexia. It was bad. She’s in therapy now.
I’m no expert, but she didn’t need carb-counting. She needed flowers.
I guess what I’m trying to say is: I know you’re only a kid, but I’m counting on you to save the world.
Long ago, our ancestors gave us a society with country dances, fiddle bands, and walks home after dark. We ruined it. We traded the whole thing in for rock music that sounds like angry chainsaws, and mass shootings.
Listen, this is about more than proms, holding hands, snuggling, and whatever else fifteen-year-olds do. This is about something big. In fact, it’s the most important thing of all time.
It’s about learning to be unselfish, unconditional, and understanding. How to be wrong, and how to admit it.
It’s about seeing a person with your eyes closed. About opening doors for anyone you’d call ma’am, miss, or Mama. About decency.
This is love, kid. Not just romance. It’s bigger than that. I’m talking about the sort that could change the universe. I wish I could tell you more about it, but I’m still learning.
Though there is one thing I can say with certainty.
Buy her flowers.