Waiting, with flowers

Since I don't have cats or kids, I'm going to start posting pictures of the flowers in my office (aka living room). There are almost always flowers of some kind in a vase on the desk, between the computers. This week they are plain yellow tulips (standard shape without fringes or tassles, no streaks of other colours).



The flowers are not always tulips, but they are very often yellow: it's my favourite colour. Not that you can tell from the photo, but the walls of the office are painted a warm pale yellow. (The vase is hand-blown glass, made by a student in the local art college whose name I cannot remember.)

I'm sitting around waiting for a phone call that on past precedent will come too late or not at all. Slim has arranged a weekend without Larry, and we tentatively agreed to go to an art gallery in a nearby town. It's now mid-afternoon, the gallery will close in three hours. Where is she? Has she changed her mind? forgotten? Or did she not want my company, but couldn't bring herself to say it?

Half of the trouble in life comes from people not saying what they mean, or saying things they don't mean. (The other half of the trouble comes from people coveting their neighbour's house, or his wife, or his ass; but that's another story for another bedtime.)

[Update: she changed her mind, and couldn't be bothered to tell me. The reasons why I put up with this, would be worth a post or two.]