<figure class="wp-block-image size-large is-resized"><figcaption class="wp-element-caption">On paper it looked great.</figcaption></figure>



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You remember.

You had this friend, and he had a lot of good ideas. He said so.

He bragged – he winked – he was a self-proclaimed Ladies Man.

He knew the ins and outs – he’d been there – he’d done that – he was a Man of The World. He said so.

Lost his virginity at twelve. At fifteen he’d already been with a hundred girls. He said so.

Had advice, lots of it. Had the Love thing down – knew all the right moves to make – all the right things to say – all the right signs to look for. He said so.

And you believed him. Even though you’ve known him since sixth grade you’ve never actually seen him with a girl – or even meeting any. Still . . .you probably didn’t notice.

You were developing feelings – giving the eye and making the glance. She was in your history class. New in school. Grabbed your heart and put it in a headlock – she didn’t look like anybody else. She was perfect – you saw your future. It was Love with a capital L.

You felt your stomach lining turn pale – you felt your face take on an ember glow – you shook like an 8.5 on the Richter scale whenever you were within ten feet of her. The inside of your mouth was a sand dune. You were a mess. You needed help – this was new.

But your friend had lots of advice – knew all the right things to do and say. Things to think about to stop shaking when you were around her – chomping on a stick of Juicy Fruit to keep your mouth from going dry. He was a festival of good advice and pointers – he swore up and down it all worked.

Including the flowers. But you didn’t really know her – don’t even know her name – nor she yours. Didn’t matter – flowers break ice – girls love flowers – it was a proven fact. Flowers meant you were serious – flowers were overflowing with sincerity. Spent your entire allowance and the florist beamed approvingly, assuring you these had Love written all over them.

Got to class early and waited for the magic moment to arrive. Gulped an entire pack of gum and felt your mouth fill to overflowing with saliva. Drool was threatening to escape as she walked in. No time to recover so you just swallowed the entire contents of gum and handed her the flowers. No time to become nervous you were desperately trying not to choke as the wad of Wrigley’s attempted to travel down your throat.

She looked at you with a perplexity akin to watching a train fly off its tracks – you had enough breath left to croak out your name and force a smile. Not knowing what to do, she took the flowers, nodded her head, faintly smiled and sat at her desk.

Class started – the teacher walked in and it fell silent. Silent, except for the sneezing. It was in rapid succession – it was loud enough to draw attention – it was her and she couldn’t stop.

Within minutes her face blew up to twice its size and turned into the color of a fire engine – her eyes swelled shut – snot was flying in every direction – she was a Polaroid of misery.

She was allergic to flowers. She was dragged off to the Nurse’s office and the flowers were promptly tossed in the wastepaper basket. A week’s worth of allowance and a well-meaning florist.

Attention shifted to you – the culprit – the guy who tried to kill her with a bouquet. You had no idea – honest – you didn’t know anybody who was allergic to flowers. You were innocent.

Too late – your maladroit display of love made it to the school newspaper – the Senior Yearbook and became Topic A of conversation at every reunion you attended since – usually accompanied by contagious laughter.

You never knew her name – she wouldn’t speak to you – she wouldn’t even look in your direction – she avoided you like a case of Mumps. Your attempted Love life was reduced to smoldering ruins and you hardly got it started.

The best it was going to be you for the time being was sitting at the bus stop – staring blankly off to somewhere in space and listening to the radio, blasting from the gas station behind you. At least you weren’t allergic to The Real Don Steele.

Here is an hour and fifty minutes worth of KHJ and The Real Don Steele from March 28, 1968.

The post It’s March 1968 – You’re In High School – You’re In Love – The Subject Was Flowers appeared first on Past Daily: A Sound Archive of News, History And Music.