Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
But the resident never came. The flowers were still sitting on the table when I returned from my mini-vacation four days later. By then they were all wilted and sad looking. I’ve always thought that in theory, flowers are a terrible gift. They inevitably die (plus they’re way overpriced and I don’t believe in wasting money). I still love getting them, though! It’s the thought that counts more than anything, right?
When the roses died for real, the office housekeeper threw them away and washed out the vase. She put the card on my desk to give to the resident if she ever came to pick it up. It turns out that the resident had called to see who they were from. She authorized my co-worker to open the card and read it over the phone.
This is what it said:
“_____ Just wanted to say, without hope or agenda, just because it’s Christmas (and at Christmas you tell the truth), to me, you are perfect. Thinking of you and wishing you a Merry Christmas : ) _____”
My cold, crusty heart just melted at that! And if you are a complete loon and didn’t recognize the reference, this guy was quoting a famously heartbreaking scene from the greatest Christmas movie/romantic comedy/anytime movie ever, Love, Actually. I was shocked, SHOCKED I TELL YOU, that none of my co-workers were familiar with it. Once I explained the significance (it basically means that this poor sod is in love with a girl he knows he can never have, but still feels compelled to spill his ever-loving guts out to in one of the sweetest ways possible), they nearly died from estrogen-overload as well! The girl's response to this note was, and I quote, "Oh." Could she be less enthused?
The notoriously frustrating yet sweet scene in question.
The fact that this biznatch must have totally shot him down got me all up in arms. I mean, I don't know this girl or her situation. Maybe she's also married to the guy's best friend like in Love, Actually. Maybe she's a lesbian. Or perhaps she really just doesn't have those feelings for him no matter how much she wishes she did. I also don't particularly care if the guy is a screamingly hideous, soul-sucking bastard (though I highly doubt it if he's willing to quote an uber-chick flick and send roses). All I know is, if I had received those flowers, I would have bolted past airport security with sweeping, epic string music in the background and a crowd of Portuguese townsfolk following me, only to bang on the window of the gate where the guy (who inevitably looks like Sexy Jesus) is getting on the last plane out to America, and start belting, "All I want for Christmas is you!"
Who knows if the resident will ever stop by to claim her empty vase and love note. On second thought, she better not. Otherwise she'll get a punch on the nose from me, having imagined this grand and tragic love story that never was.