Someone (who is insane) has either forgotten that they received roses for Valentine's Day... or, after receiving the roses they went out to Potbellie's for a celebratory sandwich and was hit by a truck and killed in the street. It has to be one of those. The damn things have been sitting in the communal kitchen for THREE DAYS.
Day one..I admired them all tucked into their plastic tourniquet awaiting a vase and glowing affection. I added water to the vase on the shelf and left them out for the person.
Day two... I replaced the water and added three cups of ice and moved them out of the sun. They were still wrapped. but I took the green styrafoam off the bottom so they could drink and cut the bottoms a bit to relieve 'stem stress' (how gay am I?).
Day three... where is this bitch? Seriously. These roses are mine. Screw her. She better be dead.
They are beautiful, no? So sweet.
Sheila and I decided that the patterns on the floor look like trumpet buttons. Can you tell I never played an instrument? You know what I 'm saying.