When I’m invited to dinner or my friends have birthdays, I like giving flowers. But getting a simple bouquet from a florist is a task which is increasingly leaving me exasperated.

Over the years I’ve been going to different florists, ones which would be on my route home or work. Maybe I’m just unlucky, maybe there is the ideal florist somewhere on this island, but so far, I am mostly greeted by florists who sulk and who seem to have no time for people who want to buy flowers, which um, sort of defeats the purpose of the shop.

But that’s by the by. The problem mainly starts when I pick the flowers of my choice and I ask for a flower-hoop bouquet – you know, a simple gathering of flowers tied with a ribbon leaving a bit of stem showing. When I explain this, I get a blank look, then a nod.

Promptly the shop assistants proceed to lay out a large piece of clear Cellophane wrap and they start placing the flowers on it, in a grandiose manner, full stem and all, adding lots of extra foliage and lots of weird grasses and hairy things. Within seconds, the bouquet is roughly half my size, and I’ll have to cradle it in my arms to carry.

I groan each time at the sight of yet another presentation bouquet, which for some reason always remind me of Mary Spiteri on some stage and a presenter saying: “U hekk hu, issa tiġi ippreżentata bukket fjuri sabiħ…” Argh, I want to yell like a Little Child, I don’t want that. Instead, I say politely: “Erm, excuse me, it is not exactly what I want. Like I said, I’m after a simple bouquet, tied with a ribbon.”

By now sweat beads are trickling down my forehead, because I know the script to this exchange. “I’d like a posy, like so,” I say, whipping out my mobile and showing an image.

The assistants peer at the picture, mumble something, take the mobile from my hand and go upstairs. They come down a minute later, sans mobile, and tell me that The Person Who Is In Charge of Difficult Bouquets will be coming down to do it.

The expert comes down with my phone. There is a lot of staring and frowning at the photo and then starts creating… another presentation bouquet. By now I feel like crying.

I wish we had more corner flower shops like there’s in Paris

“Look, please, can I just show you?” I say with a tense high pitch. I take the flowers, strip them off stem by stem, put them all on top of each other so they’re all in a bunch, and then ask them if they could snip all the stems to one size and to tie them up with floral tape.

“Hekk? Imma da ma fihx rigal ħi!” they mumble as they go on to wrap the bouquet in that cellophane again. “No!” I don’t want that. Can we ban cellophane please?

I ask for waxed tissue paper. More blank looks. Forget it. I won’t wrap it, I say. They are about to put on a red, ugly gift wrap ribbon. “May I please have a satin ribbon to match the flowers?” The request is dismissed: “That’s more expensive.” I have money! I want to pay you!

When it’s finally ready they stand back, look at it and say: “Ah! You wanted a bridal bouquet! Why didn’t you just say!” I let my tears water the fresh flowers.

I was in one such shop on Friday. It being two days before Valentine’s Day, it was full of men customers. While my saga was unfolding, I could see them spending lots, for an end result which was often downright hideous. What is it with throwing in every kind of flower in a bouquet and lots of that baby’s-breath filler?

It should be straightforward: a man should know the favourite flower of his partner, get tons of it and tie it with a ribbon. (An aside here: I am not trying to drop any hints – my favourite flower is the wild poppy and it’s impossible to make a bouquet out of that.) I felt so very sorry for the women who’d be receiving the ugly bouquets, which basically meant duty-box ticked. Not one of the assistants was gently guiding the men to a more personal bouquet: it was just a factory line.

After this weekend I decided that perhaps I should start waking up early and get my flowers from the market and stock up on ribbon at home, which would work out cheaper and stress-free.

I am tired of going to flower shops with staff who look like they can’t bear the sight of a flower. I want a florist who wears a long navy apron; who smiles the minute the bell tinkles when I go in the shop; who asks me what brings me there today; and who knows exactly how I like my bouquet.

Then I’ll go again and again, and it would never cross my mind to stop and buy flowers from a street van come Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day.

I wish we had more corner flower shops like there’s in Paris. It saddened me when the two flower kiosks in Valletta closed down. Does this mean that we’re not giving flowers to each other anymore? Are we becoming less and less sentimental? That would be a shame, because flowers make people smile. Not just the moment you receive them, but even when you put them in a vase; they light up the home giving it colour and a hurrah feeling. Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic, but I think flowers make people optimistic about life. Unless the come in the shape of a presentation bouquet of course.

krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @KrisChetcuti