By: Gabrielle McLaren
Because everybody was suffocating in their corsets, had their pantaloons in a bunch, or were starting to grapple with the horrible series of mistakes that was colonialism, the Victorian English were not the most . . . emotionally coherent of societies. These are the people who gave us Charles Dickens, who was paid by the word and had it in his best interest to ramble on forever, and Wuthering Heights, a novel about people who can’t stop being absolute dicks to each other because the hills they live in are just too wild for their Victorian sensibilities — and all die within six months of one another. Naturally, in the affairs of the heart, these people were also emotionally handcuffed and started sending each other specific flowers to represent specific sentiments, such as meet me after the ball and don’t wear any petticoats, as well as these:
Roses
There’s nothing wrong with getting roses. Is it creative? No. Is it a surprising, quirky, or unusual choice? Not really. But you know, it shows that you or your date had enough hope and interest in this date to take the time to go pick up some flowers at the grocery store and hunt down the bouquet on display that was the least dead. Roses show that you are reliable, and props to you.
Wildflowers
Daisies
Daisies are the absolute cutest, but did you know that they’re actually an invasive species and an enormous pain in the ass after about three years of relatively peaceful growth in your garden? This is the perfect bouquet to give your prospect a heads up that you are adorable and worth it, but that if they wrong you — no matter how soft and cute you are — there will be hell to pay. Make sure they know that you’re worth it, though, because you are.
Buttercups
Ivy
More specifically, poison ivy is a good way to get rid of a blind date you never wanted but got stuck with because your best friend’s boyfriend lost a bet with his nasty friend and had to set them up with somebody. Why you? Because they think you can take it. Well you know what, you don’t have to. If we as a society start to use Pavlovian methods to train asshats on the dating scene to associate misogynistic, rude, and otherwise inappropriate behaviour with the hellfire that is poison ivy, we’d be taking one step towards utopia.
Cacti