Flowers from Christopher

We met because he called my mother a whore.

Actually, "cheap hooker" were his exact words.  The short and sweet version of the story is that when my mother died, I sent out an email to contacts I found in her address book to spread the word.  Christopher didn't recognize the email address, assumed I was some sort of sinister spam artist, and replied by saying that, and I quote, my mother was "a cheap hooker, but never would have sent out spam."

This, obviously, makes Christopher totally awesome.  I mean, seriously, even at the time I was able to step outside of the situation, realize what had happened, and also realize that if I actually had been a spammer, that shit was a clever enough response.

That didn't, however, prevent my emotions from taking control of me and sending a pretty vicious reply myself, something alluding to Mr. Christopher being a sick fuck who I wished would die quickly and painfully.  Hey, my fucking mother had just died.  I wasn't exactly myself at the time...

Anyway, he eventually realized I wasn't fucking around, and felt like the biggest jackass in the world.  Sent me a beautifully written and extremely sincere apology.  Which I of course accepted, immediately.

Turns out Christopher's office is two and a half blocks from my mother's apartment.  Of course we had to meet for lunch while I was in New York this week.

I'm happy to say that I have a new friend in New York, who works just down the street from where I'm going to live.  The flowers were beautiful, and made my stay a hundred times brighter.  I had to leave this afternoon, and they were still so fresh and lovely.  I couldn't bring myself to just toss them in the trash.  I hung them to dry in the hallway, right in front of the door, where they will remain to welcome me home when I return in May...