The Beast

On Valentine’s Day, the Long Suffering Husband and I went out for lunch. Not because we were being romantic in any way but because I had a day off. We like to walk to town, do some errands and visit one of the many cafes, restaurants or bars our High Street is blessed with. We have a relatively new restaurant and so I was able to say to him, “As it is Valentine’s Day, do you fancy a Brazilian?”

At the end of the meal I went to pay and the man was horrified. He looked very uncomfortable for a moment or two, stepping from one foot to the other. I wondered if he had a bladder infection but he recovered his composure quickly, so I thought he was probably fine. I went back to the table and started to put my hat on. The LSH had already stood up and was heading for the door. The man scuttled over with a red rose.
“For the lady,” he said, bowing slightly.
He had been hoping to say that to the LSH when he paid the bill but we had clearly spoilt his plan, as Friday lunch doesn’t usually demand grand gestures.

As we walked home the LSH asked me what I was going to do with it.
“Put it in water until it dies,” I told him matter of factly.
“Are you sure you want to carry it home?” he asked, looking round shiftily.
“It’s not heavy.... unless you wanted to?”
He looked horrified. That wasn’t what he had been thinking at all.
“You could put it in that hedge,” he suggested.
I didn’t and the rose has been in a vase on my kitchen table ever since.

That was nearly three weeks ago and it looks exactly the same.

I knocked it over twice and noticed it was out of water once. The leaves have curled but the bloom hasn’t aged at all.
I’ve checked. It’s real. It doesn’t have much scent but it is a genuine cut flower.

I’m beginning to worry that it has a magic curse associated with it and if a petal falls now a beast somewhere will start to die. Maybe the LSH was right and I should have put it in a hedge. I can’t take the responsibility.