EVERYTHING'S COMING UP REALLY EXPENSIVE ROSES

And gullible. For God's sakes ... let's not forget gullible.

I'm the only guy in my office.

There's other guys in the building ... but not in my office space.

So, as you can imagine, I keep my iPod going full blast most of the day because I'm not all that keen on listening to stories about menstrual cramps that would bring down the biggest man on Earth because men are shit and wussies and can't handle cramps and if men had cramps they'd cry all day and blah blah blah.

Get over it.

I'm sorry I got the spermies and you got the eggs. I didn't ask to be born this way.

IT'S NOT MY FAULT, YOU RAGING HORMONE QUEEN.

So Tuesday we're sitting there and I'm summoned to take my earplugs out and listen to what one of my co-horts has to say.

"What're you getting Susie for Valentine's Day?" she asked.

"Ummmm," I thought. "Nothing."

I was then treated to a ten-minute beatdown of how I am nothing more than a brain-dead animal wandering around a busy interstate waiting to be run over, flipped through the air and free fall crashing on the side of the road.

I explained that normally we celebrate Valentine's Day by going out to eat at a nice restaurant, but never on Valentine's Day because the nice restaurants have 90 minute waits and so we usually do it the weekend following Valentine's Day.

And maybe a card.

But that's it.

I know my wife and she doesn't care about flowers.

Oh no no no no no.

I was then lambasted with the fact that every woman loves flowers and she's only saying she doesn't like flowers because she's being coy.

Trust me ... my wife does not love flowers.

My wife sees flowers as a huge waste of money.

The only upside of flowers is that your co-workers get to go "ooo" and "ahhh" for about 15 seconds and that's certainly not worth $75 or so.

So Susie's always been more practical than that.

If you're going to get her something, get her something like a book.

Or a heated throw blanket.

Or a candle.

Or something like that.

But not flowers.

"Get your wife flowers. Get your wife flowers. Call right now. Get your wife flowers," my co-workers chanted, getting all Children Of The Corn on my ass.

So I figured it had been about five years or so since I got the Mrs. flowers.

What the hey.

I'll get her flowers.

Called and ordered a dozen roses sent to the wife.

My co-workers oooed and ahhhhed.

"Got the flowers. Thanks."

Now ... my co-workers made it sound like as soon as she got the flowers, she'd drop everything, jump in the car and come give me the greatest blowjob known to mankind.

Nope.

"Got the flowers. Thanks."

Wednesday night, she didn't even MENTION the flowers.

We watched "American Idol" and "Lost" and went to bed.

(By the way ... "Lost"?? WHEEEEE!!!)

She was happier with the $9.99 box of candy Andrew picked out at Walgreens than the flowers.

So ladies ... listen up.

I KNOW my wife.

I might not know a lot of things like which way to turn a screwdriver if I'm taking screws out.

Or how to change the oil on the lawn mower.

Or what temperature the washer needs to be on in order to wash a load of white clothes.

But I know my wife.

And I just pissed $75 down the toilet.

Or at least I THINK that was the amount.

That's the new thing with florists ... they do not TELL you how much you just spent.

They just say it'll be taken care of and then you see your credit card bill and how they boofooed you for a dozen roses.

I coulda went to Walmart and gotten a dozen roses ("Up to seven may actually already be dead" reads the fine print) for $19.99.

But no.

According to the little Rachel Rays in my office ... the flowers MUST be delivered for maximum effect!

Here's the kicker.

NONE of them had flowers delivered to them on Wednesday.

Seventy-five dollars.

I coulda bought some pretty cool iPod accessories for that.