Boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Boy may be blonde, yet boy knows a girl like flowers. Girl has birthday, boy wants to impress and send her flowers… Now, I guess it takes being a bit blonde and confused to turn this into an “almost” epic fail.
Little did I know this lovely girl I was meeting on Facebook through common friends had not put her real name, but instead a sort of nickname, for discretion and reasons of peace (we all know how unpleasant it is when all our work colleagues want to add us on Facebook. I have been there, we have been there, we all hope it won’t happen yet it does…)
So blonde boy tricks friends into giving girl’s address. Friends not being blonde get their own back at blonde’s smooth approach by PURPOSELY not mentioning girl has an alias, and a very different real name. Blonde candidly believes that girl can share her name with a vegetable… She is French, which makes her exotic after all, and those French are all about food as every good Brit knows. Then it all goes quickly, too quickly. I went ahead and found a French outlet of Interflora and placed an order. I was very pleased with myself. Nothing tacky, nothing over the top. Just right and with some nice Chocolates as well.
Then a few days later, while still feeling smug about my en route flowers, she announces, ‘you do know that’s not my real name don’t you?’………… A rather awkward and stunned silence later, and after learning her real and name and the story behind it, I quickly order a card from Moonpig.com so as not to look like a complete fool. The good news is that the card got there without problem. The flowers, however, were lost in translation.
The plus and the minus of living in a apartment building is there is more than one surname living at the same address. And it turned out that someone in her building just happened to have had the same surname as her pseudonym (or close enough for the delivery guy to assume anyway) and she was very pleased with her flowers and her chocolates from someone she had never heard of. Maybe something about the French that she was not even questioning why she had received flowers from some random guy in England she had never heard of.
At this point I was unaware of who had the flowers. I knew they had been delivered as I could see the tracking information, like any good blonde nerd would check. ‘Did you like your flowers?’ inquires I. The next 20 minutes are taken with a series of rather embarrassing phone calls where I had to admit I genuinely believed she had the same name as a vegetable, leaving her with the task of trying to locate her own birthday present lost somewhere in her building.
Now imagine the following conversation where the woman I am trying to impress has to explain to a 60 year old French woman that the flowers she has are not hers after all. Rather they are for someone else with a totally different name, sent from someone in another country that doesn’t even know here real name, has never met and seems intent on proving to the world how blonde he can be. Luckily she managed to convince the recipient of the flowers they were in fact hers after all and recover them.
The positive side was that she got to meet one of her neighbors and explain how dumb the English can be, and she did get her flowers as you can see from the photo. But if I can’t even send a bunch of flowers to South of France without my hand being held, how am I going to manage sending myself?