“Steph, he sent 2 dozen roses to the office.” She is whispering; I would be shouting.
“We love him. Don’t you just love him?” I nearly squeal for her.
“Well, I’m beginning to think. This is crazy.” I know she’s smiling, even though we’re on the phone.
“No, it’s not crazy; it’s courting.”
“And he sent the cutest card.”
“Ah, the card. I love when they do this. You’re a lucky girl. The only court I get comes in a bouillon cube.”
(If you’re going to send flowers, send ones that look like this. Okay, okay, send anything you want… beggars can’t be choosers.)