Thus, out of guilt he couldn't completely explain, Gunn bought flowers for Cat to mend the tremendous rift between them caused by the dreaded but-as-yet-purchased Pomeranian. These weren't just any flowers, however. They were nice flowers, and he bought these nice flowers at a florist called, aptly, Nice Flowers. They smelled like roses even though they looked like daisies. He supposed that Nice Flowers kept all their nice flowers in the same nice refrigerator. He hated when his food smelled like other food. A single onion left in the fridge turned his milk oniony. One time a moldy piece of cheese made his lettuce taste cheesy. It was a good thing Gunn's condiments came in several thousand sealed fast food packets.
"Here are your peonies, sir," the girl said.
"Peonies?"
"Yes, peonies."
"I can't tell my soul mate, 'I want to make up with you, here are your peonies!'" Gunn yelled tellingly.
"You picked out peonies, sir," the girl said in a picky manner.
"I want roses!" Gunn howled rosily. "I said, 'Give me those roses there!'"
"You pointed at the peonies, sir, so I wrapped up peonies," the girl said pointedly.
"You knew what I meant," Gunn said knowingly in the past tense.
"I do not have ESP, sir," the girl said using her sixth sense.
"Oh." Gunn wrinkled up his incorrigible rogue's face. "Well, I want roses, every last rose you have! All of them!" He pointed at some long yellow flowers.
"Those are daffodils, sir," the girl said in a daffy and dilly manner.
"Just roses! Spare no expense for my sugar muffin!" Gunn bawled expensively.
The girl smiled a smiley smile full of smiles. "Is she your sweetie?"
"Yes." Gunn stood tall. "Cat Mann is my snookums, my boo, my sweetest, my girl, my main squeeze, my honey, my darling, my treasure, my truelove, my sweet patootie, my inamorata."
"Oooooooh, you are a dream," the girl cooed dreamily. "Are you foreign?"
Gunn flexed every muscle in his body and gave himself some severe cramps in the bottoms of his feet and just under his third rib. "I am a man of the world."
The girl flushed with romantically romantic feelings of romance and wished that she, too, could have a man of the world who was clueless about flowers and spared no expense for his sweet patootie. Her life just plain sucked like a calf sucking on its mama's teat, only not as milky or freaking gross.
"Do you have a brother?" she asked in a brotherly way. "I mean, gosh, if I can't marry you, maybe I can marry your brother and make you some nieces and nephews."
"Sorry, my dear girl," Gunn said in a dearly sorry way. "I have no brother. They killed him!"
"Who killed him?"
Gunn looked down on the little waif. "You're much too young for such tales of woe, my child."
"I'm eighteen."
"Oh, in that case, you don't need an adult present. They killed my brother Herb about ten years ago in Amsterdam."
"What happened?"
Gunn felt suddenly full of angst. "I do not want to talk about it."
The girl pouted and decided to have a meaningless conversation with a pizza delivery guy later that night.
"Oh, and can you remove all the thorns from the roses for me?" Gunn asked thornily.
A few minutes later, the girl's hands completely punctured and bloody and therefore unattractive to even the most desperate pizza delivery guy, Gunn drove the new Geo Storm to his house, ninety-two dozen roses packed into the back seat with all the windows open.
On his drive home, Gunn planned the fireworks to come. He'd say, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," and Cat would purr and say, "Meow." She would then slink across the floor on her hands and knees in the Catwoman suit she wore to protect her second and third-degree burns. Then she'd rub her back against his legs. "Have you been a good kitty or a naughty kitty?" he'd ask, and she'd say, "Meow" again, only this time very cattily.
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