Ed and I went to check out florists Saturday. We interviewed three florists. I absolutely had no idea what I wanted, so I was depending on the florists to tell me.

So as each florist asked me what I envisioned in my bouquet, there was a lot of me waving my arms in the air and muttering, “You know, stuff.” Pretty . . . flowers.

I did seize upon on flower, which I thought was lovely, only to be informed that it was thistle.

Then there was the completely humiliating experience of telling one florist that I wanted a hand-tied bouquet, which leaves the stems exposed, only to be told, “All of our bouquets are hand-tied.” When I said I didn’t want the stems bound up, she replied, somewhat icily, “No one does that anymore.” Honestly, it felt more like she was interviewing me.

But the turning point, when I really crossed her off my list of possibilities, was when the mailman walked in to deliver her mail. She didn’t even acknowledge his presence, much less say “thank you.”

 I mean, really, if you’re designing my flowers, you at least have to be polite. And put a little thistle in the bouquet.