I could give fuck-all about dried flowers. Talk about a really, really stupid decorating idea. And an even worse way to cling desperately to a nostalgic memory. Here’s why they suck:
Dudes: If you ever walk into a date’s apartment where dried flowers play an important role in the decorating theme, leave. This chick is high maintenance and girly and probably also thinks porcelain figurines of girls in long dresses are really snazzy.
Chicks: If you ever walk into a date’s apartment where dried flowers play an important role in the decorating theme, leave. This guy either keeps his mother in the basement or you’re accidentally on a date with an 80 year old woman.
Dried flowers have got to be the worst decorating idea since window treatments. Not only are they large and fragile, but they collect dust and spider webs like it’s their job. And fuck if I know how to clean them. They’re also depressing, in that dried flowers very literally represent the death of something that was once alive, and vibrant, and beautiful. This is how I imagine the first conversation about decorating with dried flowers went:
“I’m going to decorate with flowers!”
“Oh, great idea. It’ll be so colorful.”
“Nope. They’ll be brown and brittle, and will crumble to dust if anyone so much as brushes against them.”
“But at least they’ll smell good?”
“Not unless you like the smell of nothingness!”
“So…why are you doing this?”
“They don’t need water.”
Some people save (and then display) flowers because they carried or wore them during a very meaningful time in their life. Maybe it was a corsage, maybe it was a wedding bouquet, maybe it was a flower their adorable and difficult-to-conceive child picked them.
I don’t care.
Throw. Them. Away.
Let the memory of that lovely moment live on in, well, your memory. Let the flowers return to the earth with dignity. Keeping those dried flowers around gives off the same desperate clinging-to-the-past an an old woman who keeps getting face lifts, glopping on the makeup and wearing low-cut shirts: Your time is past. Let it go. Please.
If you are a sentimental person who keeps things purely out of nostalgia, that’s fine. I’m right there with you. But no one wants to know that you’ve still got the shitty little rose your high school boyfriend gave you that one Valentine’s Day…10 years ago. It’s sad and more than a little pathetic, Desperate McClingerson. If (and again, I feel you on this) absolutely can’t bear to throw it away, flatten the shit out of it and press it into an album or something so that you seem more like an adult. Or hide a secret box in your attic or closet where you store things like your dried flowers, and your old My Little Pony figurines, and the really weird porn. And hide it good, because when you die and your cats eat your face off before anyone discovers the body, people will go through your belongings and see those flowers and judge you.* Yes, even though you are dead.
Consider burying it somewhere, maybe, just to be safe.
*They won’t judge the My Little Ponies because, let’s face it, those are just awesome.
Featured photo courtesy of tom chandler