my personal florist

I get a call from my personal florist,
Evan.

He sounds in a panic, his voice high pitched
and trembling.

are you okay? he says. please tell me everything
is okay.
I've been so worried about you.

i'm good, I tell him. just fine.
what's up?

well, you haven't bought any flowers from us in
months. that's not like you. you've
been buying flowers from us for almost
thirty years now.
I thought the worst, God forbid.

nah, still living.

you haven't put any holiday orders in,
no anniversary, no birthdays, not even your
regular bouquet of apology flowers.

got divorced, I tell him.

oh my, he says and gasps, already.
you were sending her an apology bouquet
nearly every week
i'm surprised all those flowers didn't
work.
we do miss your business. i'm so so
glad that you're okay, but

i'd be remiss in not telling you that

we have a special this month on a bouquet
of make up flowers, daffodils, petunias,
daisies, paired with a nice
apology bouquet made of red roses with
baby's breath sprinkled in.
50 per cent off for our valued customers.

it comes in a nice crystal vase with a card
that says all the things you need to say
but haven't thought of. a little mushy,
but women like mushy, don't they?

i'll pass, I tell him, but keep my account
open, one never knows what's
up the road.

you betcha, he says. we miss you bud,
hope to hear from you soon.