A #Zombie’s Valentine’s Day—A Short Short Story
I hate holidays. Not the ones with a three-day weekend, just the ones invented by greeting card companies. One year I forgot Valentine’s Day until the day it arrived. Usually, I order flowers online for my wife. After all, she is the mother of two of our beautiful children, and a third not so beautiful child. In desperation, I drove to the nearest box store.
The scene at the flower department was a disaster; flowers flung everywhere; stems bent, leaves torn and flowers missing petals. I searched desperately for a gift: a small bouquet, a potted plant, or even a single rose. Nothing.
Several other men in my predicament also searched in vain like zombies from the Night of the Living Dead. At some point, I bumped into the department manager. Her hair was in disarray, her blouse wrinkled and stained, and she wore no shoes. I asked if I could get a corsage. She gave me an exasperated look and shook her head.
I decided to use my well-developed technique that seems to help in desperate situations; I began to cry. She took pity on me, put my head on her shoulder, and patted my back. “Perhaps,” she said. “They can make you one in the back.” As I shuffled in the direction she pointed, I heard her shout, “Dead man walking!”
When I arrived at the rear of the store, the scene wasn’t much better. I saw two women making corsages as fast as possible. Both had Band-Aids on every finger. The trash was full of flowers ruined by blood from pricked fingers. As fast as one was made, they put it into a petite white box. When I asked if I could buy one, both women immediately stopped working, and looked at me as though I was the person in the elevator who farted. I was in trouble. The bigger of the two leaned forward.
“Do you realize how many local high schools have Valentine’s Day dances tonight?” I did not. Pointing to the stacks of white cardboard boxes, “We still have to make 150 more corsages, and have them ready for pick up in one hour.” I fell back on my proven technique and began to cry; my lower lip quivered, and tears collected in the corners of my eyes. She softened. “Oh God, not another cry baby!” she shouted. “Okay! Okay! You can have one.”
I returned home carrying the corsage like a cat with a prize bird and presented it to my wife. She looked surprised and uttered those words that every man loves to hear. “You remembered!”