So A.G. is cruising up Fifth Avenue and sees a flower shop. A sing in the window reads, "Valentine's Day is coming!" I hate Valentine's Day. A.G. goes in and a young woman with a bad attitude (just like me!) is behind the desk with headphones on. A.G. wants to send a dozen white roses to his wife. She pushes the card and a form at him and says, all nice and surly, "That'll be $38...Mister Wise Man." A.G. gets his panties in a wad and says, "Oh no, I'm Newman -- my wife is Wiseman. She kept her maiden name. Big bone of contention in the marriage." Who cares? No one. Then A.G. makes a big show of forgetting his wallet and says he remembers his Visa card number, can he use that? The girl, god bless her, says no. And says no again. When A.G. says he doesn't understand, she says "No. It's a word. It means unh-uh." You ROCK, Flower Shop Girl! Then A.G. posits that if he called the order in, he wouldn't have to produce the card. "You're right," says F.S.G., tossing him a business card. "Call it in." He asks to borrow the phone on he desk and she tells him with a great half-smirk on her face that the phone there is for incoming calls, and if he uses it to call her, she won't be able to answer it to talk to him. We get a shot of A.G.'s face that says, "I hate you, Flower Shop Girl." But I love you, Flower Shop Girl! Don't ever change.