Secret Admirers.

Today at the office, I received a potted daisy. On the card, it had a question-mark where the name should be.

Having a secret admirer is nice, because you can pretend it's whoever you want it to be.
My secret admirer? He knows all the words to every Kanye-produced track (even the obscure ones). He knows how to sculpt cakes, because he knows that I think that cake-sculpting is a rarely appreciated art-form (one time I saw an Alf cake when I was a kid, and wow...It was amazing). He has nice shoes, and thinks that having a cat is a nice thing to do (even if he doesn't have one).
I hope he's like that, or he's a dinosaur that's always the life of the party, and wears limited-edition sweatshirts. And when I'd go anywhere, people would be like "where's your wacky dinosaur boyfriend? I love that guy."


.... This all kinda loses it's charm when I realize that, in all likelihood, the daisy is probably from one of the creepy security guards, or one of my not-so-cool patients. Awesome.



p.s. It's totally not someone that knows me, because most of my pals know that I'm not really into flowers (but take note, future secret admirers, I really, really like cassingles, exotic fruits, and almond tarts).