A Perfect Present

A rustle of skirts, a muffled scream, an instance of struggle before silence falls once more.

Hush now, my sweet. You have already ruined the surprise by coming in before you were supposed to. And now you have seen the mess before I had the chance to tidy up.
Tut tut. That won’t do at all…

Wait awhile will you, my dear? I shall be but a moment. Goodness knows what your husband would say if he saw his lovely Persian rugs stained so.
Thank heavens he can’t see it right now. Looked quite weary, last I saw him.

Pitiful, frail thing, that husband of yours. Couldn’t even bear to make this little sacrifice for the one he claimed to love so. After all, it was I who did all the work, he merely provided the materials. One material, to be exact. I knew only he could give me what I needed. Only he could make this present truly special, for it is he who you chose, who you love, is it not?

Don’t you agree, darling? I definitely do, of course I do. After all, didn’t he say that you were his love, his life, his very essence? How selfish of him to claim it all for himself, and how wrong of him to take something that was never his.

And yet, you were the one who so foolishly gave it to him, not too long ago. So naive, giving away something that you know should have belonged to someone else, someone who loved you so much more than he ever could. You were truly blind. You were young, you were stupid.

But I forgive you, of course I do. I couldn’t possibly harbor any ill-will towards you. And today is your birthday, so let us not bring up bitter memories. I prefer to keep them buried, you know? I tend to get testy when I’m unsettled, but you already know that.

Ah, my word. See how you distract me to the point of abstraction. I almost dropped your present. Just relax and sit back for a bit, eh? I’m almost finished.
I have to say, I didn’t think the colour would be so wonderfully red. It’s so striking against the white petals, amazing.
You’re probably wondering why I chose such a combination.
Well I was playing with my paints one day, and suddenly I’m struck by the most beautiful blotch of colour. A drop of red and white, slowly blooming into a lovely flower.

Then and there, I knew what I had to give you for your birthday. An epiphany, if you will. And then I thought, what kind of dye would be worthy to colour your rose? I would need the most vivid, deepest of reds.

So here I am now, with your husband, about finished with your gift. There, I think it should be dry by now.
Oh dear, you’ve fallen asleep! I didn’t think I’d bore you that much, I am very sorry. No matter, I shall lay it on your lap, love, for you to find when you awake. Meanwhile, I’ll just clean up this awful mess.

Honestly, I’d think your husband would probably be quite upset if he weren’t the source of it in the first place. He does gush a lot, doesn’t he? Stained the bed, he did. A load of trouble, if you ask me.
First, he goes and makes such a racket, and then he gives me so much grief as I try to collect my materials. Now he leaves a huge old spot on the clean linen. Dear me.

Well, I guess I’d better put his heart back in, now that I’m done using the wonderful dye. But I think his ribs may be a bit beyond repair. I’m afraid I was a little rough when trying to get my colours, but really, it was he who struggled.
I’ll just tuck him in for you; don’t think you would like it if your man caught his death because I left him in the cold.

A very happy birthday, my lady.