gaspersWorld

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Birthday, Wedding Anniversary or Valentines Day!

I don’t think my wife is psychic, but she seems to know what I am going to do on these days even before I actually do it. 

This year, with Valentine’s Day falling on a weekend, she was out grocery and window-shopping which was the only sport that she believed in.

I was planning to spend the evening enterprisingly with something kicking-kicky than the usual candlelight dinner when suddenly a knock on our front door interrupted me.

Kuwait weekends were monotonous, charitably speaking. Nothing extraordinary happening -- other than church activities, Friday football, an occasional drama, or communion parties.

The signboard on our door was crystal clear, ‘KNOCK ONLY IF YOU ARE EXPECTED!’

Did we expect someone? I wondered.

EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

I peeked through the door to see who it was. There was some strange guy standing out there. I never saw him before and I didn't know him from Adam.

“Did you order something?” I asked to no one in particular, knowing well she was not in the house.

I opened the door just as the man was about to knock again. He held a bouquet of fresh roses, the most beautiful package I had ever seen. 

“Salam malekum,” the guy, an Egyptian, greeted and showed me a piece of paper with simply my name scribbled on it, ‘Gasper’.

“It is I,” I said. 

My excitement to see the spectacular bouquet of flowers was so much that my words came out like Jesus Christ.

“This is for you Mr. Gazper,” the man said, most Egyptians pronounced my name that way. 

“I am he,” I said, again with a Biblical subtext, and grabbed the bouquet with both hands, sniffing the flowers and holding them close to my chest – all in one go.

“In naha min (it is from...)” the man said in Arabic and leaned over to look at the receipt, then furrowed his brows together, “it doesn’t say from whom..”

Well, if there were any flowers that expressed love, joy, and life more distinctively than other flowers, they were roses, and a bouquet of roses spoke louder than words.

I stood in the living room and examined the bouquet, looking for a card tag. There was none, and I couldn’t figure out who sent it. 

GUESS WHO..!

Well, I never expected roses from people I didn’t know; it had to be my wife and I concluded it was my wife. 

“She must have thought I was working hard lately and thought I needed a nice little surprise,” I murmured.

“How romantic, and sweet of her,” I said to myself caressing the roses. 

Honestly, I had bought her no more than a rose for any valentine, and here she was – knocking me with a novelty. Well, I could return the favor with a truckload of roses next valentine.

Turning around, I placed the bouquet on the centre-table and lighted the side lamp. The flowers glowed in the light; the scene was like Moses’ times – I saw the 'bouquet' on fire but it did not burn up. 

Incredible!

I was so overjoyed and euphoric, I picked up my mobile and played a favorite song on YouTube, and went for shower straightaway carrying the mobile along – singing the song aloud – Pitbull’s ‘Am on f-i-r-e...’

What should I buy her in return? 

I decided to take her to the finest of Arabic cuisines in town that evening and all along imagined how exotic that would be.

“Doesn’t matter if it costs,” I chuckled, “she deserves the moon and the stars!... Huh, roses for me.. wow !!!”

The shower was longer than usual, and I was playing bubbles when suddenly a yell in the living room freaked me stiff and made me rush out of the bathroom almost nude. 

SURPRISE-SURPRISE

It was her. She was staring at the bouquet. Speechless! As if she had never seen such a bouquet in her life.

“What on earth is this!” she looked at me, eyes popped out. “Why thrash money on flowers that will wither away in time. .. One must show love with commitment and... subjection ... love should be steadfast..”

“Wait a minute,..” I was still soaked wet. “What did you say? You did not order the bouquet?”

“Am I crazy?”

“You did not. Then, who..?” I asked. “It was addressed to me..” 

Her delight turned into anger, and within a moment she was deflated like a balloon.

“W-h-o!!!” she stated. “You’re asking me? Must be someone you are still in touch...”  

“Me, in touch?” I was confused, “Who..!!!”

“What do I know, who?” she looked hammer and tongs. “That says why it came to the house first place...!”

“Why..?” I looked her in the eye.

“Hmmm,..’coz it’s a weekend. Else it would go to the office perhaps … Tell me who sent the damn thing.. Tell me.. quick!” she slumped into the sofa.

I was bamboozled. Who could it be.

All the pretty faces who admired me in college had turned from chicks to chickens and lambs, and the faces that I marvelled now probably thought I was too old even for wine, leave alone valentine.

Someone in my house, and I will not mention names, had long suggested I get rid of lies. But I couldn’t hide this naked truth -- someone’s deliberate conspiracy to ignite a wildfire in my home.

I scanned my smart-phone for a mischievous message or two in WhatsApp, Messenger, or Facebook, from friends who could have done this barbaric, necromantic act. None.

END OF THE AFFAIR

I didn’t know what to do, a deadly silence followed. I was on real F-I-R-E. My body dried up from the shower as if I had been standing in a desert summer. I was afraid she would hang me out for further drying. 

“Oh, how I wished the bouquet came from my sister, or mother!” I wished. 

My worry kept growing, longer than the list of promises of a politician running for re-election.

“Who could it be?” I thought and thought. 

I will not go as far as to say that she could read my mind, but she seemed to know what I was thinking even before I went through the effort and labor of thinking.

It was late evening when I noticed a strange phenomenon. I was cursing myself. Not only was I talking to myself, but I was answering myself and many times arguing with myself. And I thought I was alone only to find out she was within earshot of my remarks. 

Hours passed; it was quite late. 

“The candle-lights must be good only in movies, and on the altar,” I said to myself. 

When I saw no other prospect, I headed into the kitchen to fry an omlette and make myself a sandwich. Just as I was about to crack an egg, I heard her arguing with someone at the door.

“It was a mistake ma’am, the delivery is on the other floor,” it was the Egyptian delivery man. “Your building security ‘hares’ gave me the wrong name.” 

“What was the name?” my wife demanded to know.

“Guezz Who!” the man said, “the ‘hares’ said it is not ‘Guezz Who’, it was Gaz-Per!”

“I am he!” I said out loud with the confidence of a fox that got away with a plump chicken.