It was snowing last week. I swear. Here I sat, by my window, just pounding on my keyboard like I always do—blogs, social networks, bookmarking sites, you name it, I’m so there—and I look and what the . . . ? All types of flowers! Now, I’m not kidding about the snow. I carve it up on the slopes like nobody’s business, and the only flower that I’ve been used to is the funny red-and-green one, like plastic, that hung out in our window all winter. I think my roommate’s girlfriend gave it to him for Christmas or something. But that’s the only flower—and it’s been inside the window! Not outside! And I think my roommate finally tossed it, anyway.
But that’s just the thing. Here I sat yesterday, clicking and typing away, waiting for my buddy to call about the next ski trip, when I look out the window and in the middle of that sunshine (it’s not real sunshine, I’m sure. That snow’s will be back pretty soon), there’s some old guy with his shirt off planting all types of flowers in the massive round circle of dirt in the center of the lawn at my apartment complex. Here we thought that was roped off for snowman-building contests, but no. My landlord has gone and gotten the Shirtless Wonder to come and start planting flowers. What’s up with that? I mean, sure, there are some flower types I kind of like, or maybe used to like (I had a girlfriend last spring who liked roses, so I mean, I liked roses), but that’s beside the point. The point is this:
I don’t even know the names of flowers like these! Maybe my landlord knows something I don’t, but between the reds, yellows, oranges, purples, and greens, I feel like I’m at some sort of snowboarding-Rastafarian convention gone rainbow. I spend my time kicking people like that off my slopes—one puff of powder and they’re gone! But now my landlord has not only gone and melted all the snow (I bet he did it with a blowtorch—that would be just like him), but he’s got some dude trying to convince me that winter’s done. As if winter’s done. Those types of flowers he’s planting look like pansies. Him, too! Weak sauce! They’ll freeze over tomorrow and I’ll get back to hitting the slopes.
My girlfriend from last spring knew the names of all flowers, I think. I’d get her a rose and she’d call it a Winter’s Face or Snowman’s Nose (I only remember those because they came from the snow, you know?). But this shirtless guy outside my window is really pushing it. Now he’s got some types of flowers that are yellow and purple, as if one weren’t bad enough. And, to boot, I bet he’s the one who fertilizes all this green grass. Green is for pine needles. I can’t believe this! I can’t believe my landlord would be this low. It was snowing last week! Dude, I’m getting to the bottom of this. There’s no way spring is even close. It’s only June!
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