Asking for Trouble
“They were delivered in a box by a flower delivery-man carrying a clipboard.
In my flat, I read the accompanying little card: ‘My finger’s really sore. Guess I got off lightly.’ It was written in big round letters and there was no name there. I mentally added ‘from Ilya’; but ‘from Karen, the seventeen-year-old whose job it is to write these cards’ seemed more appropriate.
I was livid.
If the flowers hadn’t been so infuriatingly beautiful, I would’ve chucked them in the bin. But I didn’t have th...e heart; they hadn’t done anything wrong. And they hadn’t even lived yet. They were still in bud, swollen with promise.
I wasn’t too bothered that there was nothing like ‘sorry’ or ‘forgive me’ in the card – although it might have been nice. But ‘sorry and forgive me’ are only words and the whole package was basically saying the same thing; it was just spelt differently.
And I hated the way it was spelt. It was dull, thoughtless, bland, anonymous and insulting.MoreLess
In my flat, I read the accompanying little card: ‘My finger’s really sore. Guess I got off lightly.’ It was written in big round letters and there was no name there. I mentally added ‘from Ilya’; but ‘from Karen, the seventeen-year-old whose job it is to write these cards’ seemed more appropriate.
I was livid.
If the flowers hadn’t been so infuriatingly beautiful, I would’ve chucked them in the bin. But I didn’t have th...e heart; they hadn’t done anything wrong. And they hadn’t even lived yet. They were still in bud, swollen with promise.
I wasn’t too bothered that there was nothing like ‘sorry’ or ‘forgive me’ in the card – although it might have been nice. But ‘sorry and forgive me’ are only words and the whole package was basically saying the same thing; it was just spelt differently.
And I hated the way it was spelt. It was dull, thoughtless, bland, anonymous and insulting.MoreLess
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