“This guy comes into the shop. He’s been here before…often. He’s that kind of guy; one who needs to apologize a lot. So, naturally I say, the usual?”
“Uh, no. I need…more.”
“What did you do this time?” I ask. “Lose more money gambling?”
He shakes his head. “A lot worse,” he says.
“Tell me you didn’t…”
“There AREN’T any flowers for that and you know it.” So, he asks me what he should do. I tell him, “Buy her a new car and take her to Paris; then do a LOT of begging.”
He tells me he’s been begging for two days but it’s not working. She put all of his stuff in his car and had the locks on the house changed. She wrote JERK on the driver’s side door of his car with her key.
“Good for her,” I tell him, adding flowers to the bouquet.
“I didn’t mean it,” he said softly.
“Then why’d you do it?”
He shrugs. I stick him with a thorn and give him a piece of paper towel to catch the blood.
“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me? You know I love her.”
“You don’t deserve her. If you love someone, you don’t do things that would hurt her.”
“You’re right,” he said, staring at his feet. “Why are you talking like you from a New York and in the mob?”
“Oh, that,” she said. “Well, my last job, you know, my other job, had to do with people who spoke that way. Thanks for reminding me. I get caught up in things sometimes.”
“How’d it go?”
I smiled. “Very well. Thank you for asking. I don’t know what you can do to make up for what you’ve done.”
“Me neither. She asked and I thought I’d tell her the truth, so she wouldn’t hear it from someone else. Besides, I’m a terrible liar.”
“These flowers will help, but you were really bad this time.”
“She’s stuck by you all these years.”
“I know,” he signed.
“You’ve been together how long?”
“Since high school,” he says, waving his hand in the air.
“A word of advice?”
“Give it to me,” he says.
“No matter what a woman asks, you NEVER tell her that she looks fat.”