The Last Straw: A while ago, our magazine had a feature about "the language of flowers", accompanied by a glossary of symbolic meanings. Blue violets represented "faithfulness"; lavender signified "distrust"; red carnations meant "alas for my poor heart", etc. And as an occasional flower purchaser of the male gender, I read this with a certain amount of what the plant mandrake apparently symbolises: "horror".
Like many men who dropped out of emotional vocabulary class early, I had often taken the horticultural sector's self-serving advice: "Say it with flowers". Now I found myself wondering what the hell I'd said.
Throughout my years of flower-buying, I'd been like a tourist in a dangerous country using a Berlitz phrase-book without the English translations. When I hoped I was asking "where is the nearest post office?", I may instead have blurted: "Stand back! I have a bomb!"
If the glossary was accurate, the mind boggled at where certain flowers could lead your love-life. Take the dog rose, which was said to represent "pleasure and pain"! And not even basic items of fruit were free of significance. You might be safe enough presenting your loved one with a pineapple (meaning "you are perfect"). But it was with some relief I realised I'd never bought any woman a water-melon ("bulkiness").
Of course, it's possible these meanings are unknown to most women too. After all, the red carnation is a staple of Irish weddings; and many brides also seem to have missed the symbolism of having the service accompanied by the theme song from Titanic. But as male readers will agree, you can never be confident that the obscure associations of plant-life will be lost on women; because there's a whole body of such information, secretly passed down from mothers to daughters, that we know nothing about.
Here's one example that is common knowledge. For centuries, no doubt frustrated by their menfolk's inability to express feelings, women have been known to consult daisies ("he loves me, he loves me not") for insights about their relationships. I rest my case.
Incidentally, the risks of floral misunderstanding are exacerbated by the Internet. A Google-search for "say it with flowers" shows that one of the top-ranked websites is an Italian florists' chain exporting to 100 countries. Obviously a successful business, the site has an English version, albeit one that was apparently translated by computer.
In a section on "symbology", it warns: "Attention also to don't give a yellow flower to the girlfriend, because it is the symbol of treason." This is reasonably clear (if alarming), as is the website's suggestion that men can receive floral tributes, "on condition that it is avoided brittle flowers with romantic meaning and soft colours". But what of its tip that, on those informal occasions when a single bloom will suffice, "a violet picked up by the eyelash of a ditch" can be much appreciated?
Unfortunately, even if you choose the right variety and colour, the message conveyed by your bouquet may be simple guilt. For many women, a bunch of flowers from a partner is the equivalent of a failed polygraph test. It won't stand up in court as evidence of wrong-doing, but it can be the basis for interrogation and a forced confession. Indeed, male guilt is something that florists know well how to exploit.
Walk down Dublin's Grafton Street, and if you as much as glance in the direction at the tulip stalls, the women there will ask: "Want flowers, love?" For some reason, this always reminds me of a time I strolled through Amsterdam's red-light district (by accident - I was looking for the post-office), and various strange people approached asking if I wanted things they were selling. Maybe I need counselling: but being asked if I want flowers makes me think I must look like I need flowers. And the women in Grafton Street know that.
Anyway, what got me thinking about all this was the news that Bertie Ahern has had an orchid named after him in Singapore. I thought this might have satirical potential. After all, saying it with flowers is a big tradition in Irish politics, where even the symbols have hidden symbolism. We all know how Official Sinn Féin became the "Stickies": because they favoured the adhesive-backed Easter Lily (representing "class warfare and the creation of 32-county Marxist republic"), rather then the Provisionals' pin-on version ("united Ireland first - details later").
Disappointingly, it turns out that orchids have nothing unusual to say, even when translated by Italian websites. They symbolise "magnificence, beauty, refinement," apparently. So only good news there for the Taoiseach, as he seeks to regain his former popularity in the polls. Mind you, as one gardening expert told me, orchids are very delicate, and it can be hard to get them to bloom twice.
