I was thinking the other day about bouquets. Strange, I know, but I had just seen a photograph at my parents' house from after my first dance recital. I was 4 years old. I'm standing in the living room at my grandparents' house- I'm wearing a pink ensemble I really don't remember, I'm just familiar with it from the picture, and I'm holding a tiny, ribboned cluster of white flowers that my parents had given me after the big number. The funny thing is, I do remember how crazy I was about that bouquet. It was just so beautiful and smelled like summertime. I had never held one before and I had seen that all the older girls had them too. I wanted to carry it everywhere.
I still feel that way about a bouquet. They feel special. I mean unless you are part of a wedding or a performance or maybe being honored in some way, you really don't have the pleasure of holding one very often at all. If only bouquets could maybe happen on some drizzling Wednesday or after your annual review or after you get your two-year-old potty trained. Now that would be something.....
I still feel that way about a bouquet. They feel special. I mean unless you are part of a wedding or a performance or maybe being honored in some way, you really don't have the pleasure of holding one very often at all. If only bouquets could maybe happen on some drizzling Wednesday or after your annual review or after you get your two-year-old potty trained. Now that would be something.....
