FLORAL DELIVERY TIMES TWO

I have been out of work for a few days on medical leave. My face is still wrapped up like a turkey in cheesecloth, and no one is allowed to see me, not even my sister.  This seclusion seems to be working until the doorbell rings.

Flower delivery.

I yell through the door, "I have to pre-warn you that I have a huge bandage on my face."  When I get the delivery woman's okay, I open the door, but not until I truly know that she knows I look like a freak.  I'm sure she is shocked, but she doesn't drop the glass vase filled with water and an exquisite floral masterpiece. 

A little while later the doorbell rings again. By the time I reach the door, I can't hear movement on the other side of it.  After screaming "Hello?" about fifteen times, I nudge the door open.

Flowery delivery.

This package of flowers arrives via a paid delivery service.  The delivery guy gets out of the truck, drops the package, does "Ding Dong Ditch" with my doorbell, and is back in the delivery van in the time it takes me to scream "Hello" and determine that it is safe to open the door.

Recently the outside plants on the patio became inside plants again, so any formerly available flower display space has been taken.  No matter,  One floral arrangement goes on the kitchen table; the other goes on the counter but doesn't really fit there.  It's okay, though.  My now-indoor plants will keep it company. 

It's starting to chill down at night. so I grab the basil out of the open kitchen window and place it next to the flowers on the counter. I'm not sure what to expect later, though, now that my basil is fraternizing with the roses.  I might have some strange hybrid growing soon. 

But even if I do end up with some freakish basil bouquet, by the time I have to do a press conference about it, my face should be unwrapped.  I won't have a huge bandage on my face.  I won't scare small children.  And ... I'll be able to answer my own door.