Yup, well, I wasn’t going to post the second part to “When one faux pas isn’t enough” until later, but it seems a certain faithful reader who shall remain nameless but is my next older sister isn’t going to give me any peace until I do. So fine.
My second stroll down Colour Me Stupid Avenue began with what I thought was a very good intention. A member of my choir, L., had just come through a very serious illness and I suggested to The Mister we send her a bouquet of flowers as a ‘get well soon’ gift. We went into our favourite florist shop and order a nice arrangement of “the brightest flowers you have.” No problem! Later that day, our friend called to thank us for the lovely flowers, and that night at choir L.’s girlfriend, who happened to be there when the flowers were delivered, reiterated how thrilled L. was to receive them.
Well, we were feeling prit-tee pleased with ourselves when we got back home, I can tell you, and I was running the day’s events over in my mind as I brushed my teeth when it hit me! Oh my god! I ran into the TV room where The Mister was, realized I still had a mouthful of toothpaste, ran back to the bathroom, spat out said toothpaste, scurried back to the TV room and blurted, “How stupid are we?!!”
The Mister took a second, a rather long second, to slide his eyes off the screen and over to me.
“Something wrong, dear?”
“You know how sick L. has been?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And do you remember her allergies…her terrible, terrible allergies to…”
He blanched. “Flowers.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “She must think we want her dead.”
“We may as well have wrapped them up in a nice wool blanket,” he added. (Next to flowers, L. has the worst wool allergy I’ve ever seen.)
“I’ll call her tomorrow and apologize and tell her to throw them out.”
Which I did. And she was so sweet and understanding!
“Not to worry,” she said, “everybody’s been sending me flowers, even my son, the doctor!” She added that they weren’t bothering her if she kept the windows open and she put them in the spare room at night. I insisted she throw them out, but she refused. “They’re just too beautiful! But if they bother me, I’ll bring them down to the church and leave them on the communion table.”
I apologized a couple more dozen times and promised to send her a goldfish next time, or a rock, something non-allergenic. At least I left her laughing.
So there, gentle readers and pesky older sister, there is my sad story of my misadventures on Colour Me Stupid Avenue. My consolation? At least I don’t live there.
Not yet, anyway.
