We had planned to meet for ice-cream, a form of his apology to me, after a misunderstanding between two people who meant well but in reality, the words just came out wrong."It's a hot date", he said.
"It's not a date. Just a neighborly meeting at the nearby ice-cream shop."
"Still a date", he insisted.
I told him that a date would consist of giving advance notice; a nice dress worn, receiving a flower, and sending the lady home to her doorstep. He immediately loped over to the nearest frangipani-like tree and plucked a flower for me.
And promised me he'd send me home. (It was within walking distance.)
I told him the flower dripped sap on my finger and he let me brush it on his palm.
"Can I throw it away now?" I asked, after admiring it for a while.
The red frangipani bloom was gingerly placed in the lush grass amongst its other fallen sisters and brothers. Stop plucking more flowers for me, I told him, as he cast his gaze around and looked as though he would come back with an armful just so it could be a date. No more plucking flowers, I chastised.
Then he asked me for a date next week.
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