We Are Strong, We Are Invincible, We Are Women Who Want Flowers

We are beyond all that, we like to think--sophisticated 20th century women, immune to the lure of sentimentality, unmoved by the emotion of romantic appeals.

So why does Valentine’s Day tend to reduce us to little girls, pining for public declarations of love?

Forget chocolates, jewelry, lace teddies . . .

Think roses, tulips, lilies, anemones . . . big, splashy displays of flowers that announce we’ve turned our man’s heart and mind to such mush that he thinks nothing of spending a C-note to proclaim his love before the world . . . or at least before our envious co-workers.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” we are inclined to exclaim when presented with flowers on Valentine’s Day.

But you should have . . . and you do, to the tune of more than 10 million bouquets, trotted out to homes and offices across the country every Valentine’s Day.

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In my friend Emily’s workplace, the public address system summons to the front office anyone who receives visitors or packages during the work day. On Valentine’s Day, it blares nonstop, she says.

“It’s like they’re calling out the winner at the Miss America pageant,” she grumbles. And everyone watches, as one lucky woman after another returns to her desk carrying flowers--the grand prize in the annual lovers’ derby.

In five years of Valentine’s Days with the company, Emily’s name has never been uttered by the PA announcer. She plans to call in sick Monday morning . . . rather than go home heartsick Monday night.

Let’s face it, “there is a little bit of pressure in most offices on Valentine’s Day,” says Jennifer Sparks, in a classic case of understatement. Sparks is the marketing director for the Society of American Florists in Alexandria, Va. “Our office is like any other,” she says. “You sit and wonder and watch the clock as the flowers arrive and hope the next delivery will be for you.”

Flowers, she says, “are such an emotional gift. I’ll bet every woman can remember the last time she got flowers.”

Unfortunately, my memory doesn’t go back that far.

I tend to attract guys like my current beau, who thinks nothing of dropping $100 for tickets to hear the Whispers in concert but is bewildered by the notion that anyone would spend that much on flowers “that will just wilt in a few days anyway.”

When Valentine’s Day falls during the week, as it does this year, flower sales tend to rise, Sparks says. “There’s nothing like having them arrive at your office. I think men have gotten that message. And any woman who has experienced being the recipient will know what I mean . . . everybody’s watching you, wondering who they’re from. There’s something magic about it. If you’re the lucky one, it’s a feeling you never forget.”

And if you’re not? Think back to your childhood, when there was always some kid in the class who was left out of the Valentine derby, who had an empty bag while classmates’ bags were filled with cards from friends.

Now imagine you are that grown-up kid, with an empty desk on Valentine’s Day, watching wistfully as a procession of flowers passes you by.

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Of course there are worse things than simply being bypassed, such as what happened to my co-worker several years ago.

She wasn’t really expecting anything. After all, her boyfriend had already given her his Valentine’s Day gift . . . one of those electric mug warmers you set on your desk to keep your coffee hot.

So when the guard called her from the lobby to announce a package, she was pleasantly surprised. She returned to her desk toting a gorgeous bouquet of red roses in a crystal vase. Attached was a card with a poetic love note, unsigned.

And after we’d all ooohed and aaahed and gushed about how lucky she was, she called to thank her boyfriend for his extravagance. He was dumbfounded, more surprised than she.

“But I didn’t send you flowers,” he stammered.

“C’mon, honey . . . of course you did,” she cooed. “I’m staring at them right now.”

“No, really, I didn’t send you flowers. I gave you the mug warmer, remember?”

After several minutes of back-and-forth, they were shouting at each other.

“Well if you didn’t, who did?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

She checked the card again and realized with horror that the flowers were intended for someone else, a co-worker with the same last name.

She can laugh about it now. But her lasting memory of that Valentine’s Day is the long walk through the newsroom to return the flowers not meant for her.

And the ride back up in the elevator, empty-handed and surrounded by beaming women, clutching bouquets with their own names on the cards.