Lessons In Being A Flapper

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Authors: Angela Smith
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but you’re all I think about since our fateful encounter.
    I know you can’t call me to tell me you’re OK but I would love it if you sent me an email, at least, to tell me how you feel and how your day went.
    With love,
    Bayani x
    I was so thrilled by the letter – which had to be the most romantic one I had ever received – that I almost forgot to open the box. With trembling fingers, I tore open the delicate paper, trying to keep it intact while doing so. I lifted off the cover and inside I found the most beautiful cameo brooch I had ever seen. It was obviously old and very delicate. It looked like the woman on the brooch was hand-carved with intricate details and solid features. It was, by far, the most perfect gift I had ever received.  And that is how I found myself crying by myself on the floor of my living room, holding a letter from a man saying he wanted to be with me and a 1920s era brooch to prove it.
     
    Y ou’d think that having a declaration like the one I received tonight would make me swoon – and of course, it did – but it also made me very nervous. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready to let someone into my life who could potentially hurt me or disappoint me. Another words, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to give or receive love at the moment.
    I thought about this all the way over to Marisol’ s where I was due to pick up Clara. It was now the end of the work day (for most people anyway) so I had my fingers crossed that Marisol wouldn’t know that I had been let go early after my disastrous attempt at introducing myself. The door was unlocked when I arrived so I let myself in and was never happier to be greeted by a wet-nosed dog in my life. Clara bounded over to me as best she could the minute I walked through the door. My poor girl had such a hard life so just seeing her so happy and doing the “pit bull wiggle” was a joy for me. I bent down to give her head a scratch and while doing so a very observant 99-year-old medium took note of my new brooch.
    “My God! Where did you get that thing?” she asked, making her way towards me from her position on the sofa.
    “Oh, it was a gift from a friend,” I replied, knowing full well that she would want details. I had the notion that I better not show up at Marisol’s in my tracksuit so I changed into a pair of designer jeans and a peach colored cashmere sweater. I pinned the brooch –which has a light blue background -- to my sweater as an embellishment and when I looked in the mirror, I really liked what I saw.
    “Well, that ‘friend’ must be really fond of you. That’s an authentic piece of jewelry from the 1920s. Not something easy to come by, especially in that quality.”
    I could tell she wanted me to elaborate on how I knew this friend and whether it was a male or female, but when I said nothing she changed the subject.
    “So, tell me, how did your day go? Clara and I had a lovely time together. She didn’t try to wee in my poinsettias once – a marked improvement from the last time she was here, I think.”
    “Oh, it went fine. You know, normal office stuff…getting to meet my co-workers, arranging my new office. Those types of things,” I said as nonchalantly as possible.
    “What about the orchids, dear? Did you place them in a special place?” Marisol asked. I must have looked as stunned as I felt because she filled in the void by saying that they were a congratulations gift from my grandfather.
    “Didn’t you look at the little card? It was written in his own words and then delivered by one of the area’s most expensive florists this morning.” So that’s where they had come from. I was trying to figure out who had sent them to me and now I knew. I guess I still wasn’t used to having dead people send me flowers. It’s usually the other way around, isn’t it?
    “’Send Autumn flowers – orchids to be exact – I want her to know how proud I am of her!’ he said and continued saying until I ordered the damn

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