Which Flowers?

Robb called last night to chat with me about his day and mine. Through the course of the conversation, he asked, "Well, how are the flowers doing?"


It turns out, he was asking about the beautiful bouquet he sent me earlier this week. This one, that is still vibrant and beautiful and the delight of my kitchen.





But I thought he was asking about the petunias in the flowerbed out front. These, who saw far better days in the spring and summer. (I would never normally post such dying vegetation, so far past its prime, but it's important for the story.)




Please keep that subtle and important difference in mind as you read the following dialogue.


R: Well, how are the flowers?


T: Oh, they're awful. Just awful.


Silence.


R: Really?


T: Oh, yeah. They're just not pretty anymore.


R: They were pretty for a while, though, right?


T: Sure, but they're just done. It's time for them to go. I've been meaning to get rid of them, and I really need to put that on my list of things to do.


R: Do you think you can get a few more days out of them?


T: Honey, they lived a good life. They're done. I need to toss them. Don't you think I should?


Silence.


R: Well, they're yours. You can certainly do whatever you want with them.


(Mine? They're mine? The petunias are mine?? For heaven's sake, no, they are not. We planted them together, but he has taken care of them all spring and summer, and it's October. They're not mine.)


And then I saw that glorious bouquet on my kitchen counter. Now, those are mine. Wait. Those are mine.


And it was at that point that I realized we had been talking about two entirely different topics, and I had seemed very unappreciative of his very thoughtful gift from a distance. I began correcting my misspoken words. Quickly. And I sent him a picture of those beauties, as proof that I really love them, and they really are beautiful.


For heaven's sake. He should come home soon, so we can speak intelligently to each other.