Notes

My Thorny Thursday contribution:

“They say the longer roses last, the surer his love is,” said Jan.

It was Valentine’s Day, and the florist had delivered these dozen red beauties, carefully laid out in a box, to my desk in the office as my co-workers stared in envy. The card said “from Steve.”

I looked at Jan and snorted. Old wives’ tales. Roses lasted longer if I put that rose food stuff in the water. Everyone knows that. I carried the box to the break room, got a vase out of a cupboard, clipped open the packet, dumped it into the vase, and added water. Then I trimmed the rose stems, placing each carefully in the vase. I went back to my desk, set the vase on it, and resumed work, entering meaningless data in a spreadsheet someone else had designed.

The next day, the roses were all drooping. Jan walked by and snickered. Just then a text came in on my phone: “Sorry, babe, it’s been fun. Hope the roses make up for your disappointment. — Steve”

@Marco

@David Ellison

@Jason Link

@Saumya Sharma

@Mallory

(I couldn’t tag all the names since several options came up, and I had no way to know which to select.)

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