We are going to a party, Amy’s house warming, and I am trying to work out who to buy flowers for. It’s her party so I think I should get her flowers, except an old, but hopefully new again girlfriend, FG, will be there, so maybe I should get her flowers too.
Then again, FG might misinterpret me getting flowers for Amy.
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And Amy might misconstrue the flowers I give for her house warming, especially because of the affair.
I am walking with Elaine along the high street back towards Ealing Broadway station. It’s pouring and in my conundrum I walk back and forth slipping under each eave to avoid the rain getting under my collar, while I make up my mind.
Elaine is giving me the pros and cons. I could buy a bunch of flowers for each. And Amy might not even notice if I get FG flowers. Or maybe I get a lone stem for FG. Or I could get stems for both of them, or get nothing.
Eventually I am headed back towards the station when we duck into a Indian newsagent.
We squeeze in past shelves of crisps, nuts and magazines, and I bend down to a small black bucket by the window, but they don’t have good options. I filter through thin bouquets of plastic wrapped gerber daisies (childish), lilies (death) and wilted roses.
And who gets which? I could get two or three bunches and put them together.
“Do they expand?” I ask.
“Yes they do,” is the reply from the irritable shopkeeper, though I’m not sure my question was clear.
Then, on another shelf, I see some pansies, already planted in brightly colored pots, crayon blue or florescent pink. I settle on blue, it could be the house warming present for Amy’s bedside.
“How much?” I ask. The pots are cheaper than I thought and seem too cheap for a gift. And each pot looks plastic and rattles against its optional, add-on base.
Painting by Georgia O’Keeffe via Gandalf’s Gallery on Flickr
