I Must Suck at Sweet Nothings

 What are sweet nothings? Little endearments, usually whispered between lovers. Little non mots? Little secrets? Special little somethings that mean nothing at all but at the same time everything?

As much as I love sweet nothings, and I love giving em . . . I don’t think I’m very good at them. 

One gal, she’ll remain nameless, I sent a bunch of flowers to her work. The next time I saw her,  . . . That night . . . She didn’t mention it at all. So I called the florist and yelled at them that they must not have sent the flowers cause that gal didn’t say anything. 

So, the next day another bouquet was sent. Again, that night, nothing. So again I called the florist and complained. Again another bouquet was sent. You can see where this is going. Silence. 

Finally she said, “Are you ever going to stop sending me flowers?” 

So, that’s story 1 that proves I suck at sweet nothings. 

I remember another gal, I sent her pictures all the time. A picture of that, a picture of that. Sure I wrote her a lot too, but then every now and then I would send a pic instead. Just little things, things I’d see around town. Maybe I was shopping and I’d see a wine with a double entendre name, I’d send her a pic of that. Or a rusted out windmill in the sunset, she’d get a pic of that. Or maybe a pic of my dog, or a snapshot of my hallway. 

Want to know what I noticed. 

When I stopped she never asked what happened to the sweet nothings? She never complained that the stopped coming. She never said, I wish you’d send me more pics of your day and your life. 

So, I’ve decided I must suck at them. 

Could be an interesting novel. A guy who’s in love with some gal and can’t seem to get the sweet nothings right? They continue to be total misfires. Sounds like a fun book to read.