Every year I go to the Philadelphia International Flower Show. It’s the very least I can do. After all, The Blonde Accountant goes to Phillies games with me, so I try to return the favor by going with her to events that she favors. (For the record, the one event she won’t accompany me to is rasslin’ but if you know her, that is no real surprise.)
I usually end up enjoying the flower show for what it is — a flower show. What’s not to like? It’s visually pleasing and smells good (kind of like The Blonde Accountant now that I think about it.)
The only problem I ever have at the flower show is that the cement floor of the convention center plays seven kinds of hooey with my knees. But the convention center drinking fountains always seem to offer the coldest water, so that evens the score for me.
The other aspect I like about the flower show is that beforehand we usually combine it with a stop at (Shameless Promotion Alert) Reading Terminal Market and then afterwards, we have dinner at (Another Shameless Promotion Alert) Maggiano’s.
It’s not a ballgame, but the flower show makes a nice centerpiece for a trip into the big city. And it’s all wrapped up within a few blocks.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Philadelphia International Flower Show