Ingratitude Rest

On Tuesday last I bustled from the elevator to my desk, wearing the frustration only an effective mother trapped in the body of an ineffective bureaucrat can wear so well.

I saw the delivery guy running around and around and around our offices looking for someone to give flowers to. I thought, wow, isn't that nice, someone is getting flowers. Twenty minutes later a finger pointed at me and my co-worker ushered him and the flowers to the 'door' of my cubicle.
Are you...?
Yes!
OK, have a nice day.
I WILL!

No card. Umm. But he was gone.

Now I like getting flowers, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I get a bit shy about it. You know how it is. for-me?for-me?for-me? REALLY? I sort of ferretted them away. Really, for me?

I just let the mystery of their sender lie. I mean I had been pretty nice that week, despite broadcasting my feelings that Monday. Putting up actors and sharing my quality lox supplies with hungry children from Oregon. I had busted ass, kissed ass and hauled ass for school after school for two solid weeks. These were my flowers. I deserved them. I got them because I'm nice. I sat back to admire them and to read a Cathy cartoon.

Today I could let my ingratitude rest no longer. I had to know to whom I owed thanks.

Well, it's you. My most darling friend. And not because I'm nice at all, but because you are. I love you J. Thank-you. You picked me up.

Ok, now I'll go call.