Let me tell you a story that still haunts my bank account and my dignity.
It all started on a sunny Thursday afternoon. I had just finished watching one of those romantic movies on TV — you know the ones where the guy buys flowers, runs in the rain, and somehow still looks handsome while crying. I got inspired. 🥹
“Today,” I told myself, “I will show Ama that I am a real romantic guy.”
Ama was this girl I had been chatting with for weeks. Beautiful, smart, always using big grammar I had to Google. I finally got the chance to take her out on a date, and I wanted to start the date like those movie guys — with flowers. 🌸💐
Now, this is Ghana. You don’t just walk into a flower shop like it’s a normal thing. People will ask questions like, “Are you proposing?” or “Is your funeral near?” But I didn’t care. I was in love (or something like it).
So I went to the only flower shop I knew — one inside a pharmacy. Don’t ask me why. The place smelled like soap and heartbreak. I picked the biggest bouquet they had. It was pink, purple, and had some things that looked like grass but expensive grass. GHS 85! 😭
My heart pained me, but I said, “It’s for love.” I paid and held it like I was carrying the Olympic torch. 🏃🏾♂️💐
I got to the restaurant 10 minutes early. I wanted to be ready. I was wearing my best shirt — the one with only one bleach stain on the back. I sat, placed the flowers on the table like a trophy, and waited.
Ama arrived.
She looked amazing. Hair shining, smile bright, and her nails were so long I wondered how she typed on her phone. She saw me, smiled wider — and then she saw the flowers.
The smile froze.
“Oh,” she said.
I stood up like a proud goat. “For you,” I said, handing them over like a prize. “You deserve flowers every day.”
She didn’t take them. Instead, she stepped back — back.
“I’m… I’m allergic,” she said.
I thought I heard wrong. “You’re what?”
“I’m allergic to flowers,” she repeated. “My nose will start crying and my eyes will behave like onions are chasing me.”
My heart broke into tiny coins. “But… it’s just flowers. They’re fresh!”
“That’s the problem. Fresh ones are the worst.”
I looked at the flowers. They looked innocent. I looked at Ama. Her nose was already starting to twitch.
So I did what any gentleman would do.
I threw them under the table. 😭
The waiter came around just in time. He saw the flowers on the floor, gave me the “this one dey love pass him level” look, and handed us the menu.
Now I was already sweating. Not from the heat. From shame. And also from knowing the only thing in my wallet was the receipt for those useless flowers.
Ama, of course, was smiling again. “Let’s order,” she said.
I looked at the menu. It was one of those menus with English from another country.
“Grilled salmon with herbed risotto.” What is risotto? Is it rice with attitude?
She didn’t even look twice. “I’ll take the grilled prawns with avocado salad and pineapple juice.”
I smiled and said, “I’ll take the same.”
Not because I like prawns — but because I didn’t want her to know I didn’t understand any other thing.
We started talking. Or she started talking. I nodded. I laughed when she laughed. I sipped my water like it was wine. I was trying so hard to act normal that I didn’t realize the waiter had placed our food.
And that’s when the second disaster happened. 😬
Ama took one bite, looked at me, and asked: “You’ve never eaten prawns before, right?”
I paused. “Why do you say so?”
“You’re eating the shell,” she said.
I looked down.
My mouth was full of crunchy things. I thought that’s how it was meant to be. I smiled and quickly reached for tissue, acting like I had a phone call. 😭📞
I returned, now chewing carefully like a rabbit. Ama, to her credit, didn’t laugh too hard. Just a small chuckle.
The date went on. Somehow, I survived. I made her laugh with a story about how I once used toothpaste to cook rice (don’t ask). She laughed so hard that the waiter turned around.
When it was time to pay, I proudly brought out my wallet. I had been saving for weeks. I told myself, “No matter what, you will not ask her to help you pay.”
The bill came. GHS 180.
My money was GHS 200. 🙌🏾 I was safe!
Until…
“Should we get ice cream?” she asked.
I smiled like a man who doesn’t know danger.
“Sure!”
Ice cream: GHS 40.
Now I was at GHS 220.
I had 200.
I started sweating like bread in the sun.
I laughed and said, “Let me use the bathroom real quick.”
In the toilet, I opened my bank app and stared at my balance like it was a sick child. Then I called my friend Kwame.
“Bro,” I whispered, “send me 30 cedis. I go explain later.”
Kwame replied, “I dey church.”
“God will bless you more if you help me now!”
He sent it. I nearly cried.
I paid. I survived.
We left the restaurant, full and slightly awkward.
Ama looked at me and smiled. “You’re funny. This was… nice.”
“Even with the flower thing?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But next time, try chocolate. Or airtime.”
I nodded. “Noted.”
We hugged goodbye. She entered her Uber. I waved like a soldier at war.
I went home, entered my room, and threw the flower receipt in the bin like a broken dream. 🧾🔥
Then I checked my phone.
Ama had sent a message: “Thanks again. But just so you know, I’m also allergic to strong perfumes and lies.”
Wait, what lies?
Then I remembered — earlier I had said I go to the gym daily.
I haven’t even lifted a bucket this year. 😩🏋🏾♂️
I replied with one emoji: 😅
No response.
Later that evening, I sent another message: “You free this weekend?”
She replied: “Let’s just be friends.”
I went to bed hugging my pillow like a rejected teddy bear.
And that, my friends, is how I bought flowers for a girl and learned she was allergic.
Love is sweet, but the embarrassment is pepper. 🌶️😂
THE END
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