Forget-Me-Nots?

Forget-Me-Nots?

"So, how was the weekend?" asked Tim, talking around the half donut he'd stuffed into his mouth.

"Could have gone better," Bill replied as he sipped his coffee.  "Remember how we slaved over that report last week, and how we were here until after eight Friday night getting it finished?"

"Remember?  How could I forget?  I went home and crashed, I was so beat.  So?"

"So, I was just as tired.  Unfortunately, Friday was Bev's birthday and I completely spaced it out."

Tim nearly choked on his donut.  "Not good, dude," he croaked.  "What happened?"

"Well," Bill said, "it was almost nine when I got home, and there was a thawed, but uncooked, TV dinner waiting on my placemat.  Next to the tray was a note:  "I'm sure you remember how to cook these.  It's almost as easy as remembering your name or an important date!"  I went right upstairs to apologize, but the door was locked.  I tried to explain through the door, but Bev had a couple more things to say that wouldn't fit on the note."

"Yeah?" asked Tim.  "Such as?"

"Believe me, you don't want to know," answered Bill.  "Anyway, I bought her three dozen roses, but she still isn't speaking to me.  At least she's stopped locking the door every time I go outside."


[219 words]