I purchase roses for

Flowers are not cheap, especially roses, my heart stops beating when I think that I have spent so much money without any reason, that such expensive flowers will be wasted in vain. I think that I cannot tolerate it, that since roses are bought they should be given to someone, and resolutely wrapping them into the paper, I start counting other variants.

My first choice settles on the music teacher of my idler-child because, being at his music teacher's place, I would drive him out of music school long ago, but she still anxiously tries to put something into him. I reach the music school with my bouquet, but our teacher's room is closed, I am informed that she has run home because a heating radiator in her flat has burst, and the bunch of roses remains with me again.

Then I leave the music school for the bank, an employee of which constantly helps me in my work, but having known that she has left for a business tour, I go to my hairdresser.

However, my hairdresser went to curl someone's elite dog for a show, but it is becoming dark in the street and lights are being burnt. I recall that my cousin whom I haven't seen for a hundred years lives somewhere in that area, and although she is a trouble-maker and a stingy person, it is still better to give the bouquet to her than it will die for nothing. I dial my cousin's number from the street telephone, my cousin, having recognized me, immediately pours a tub of abuse at me: she yells that relatives like me don't care if she died or is still alive, that I am impudent enough to call her after so many years, and with these words she hangs up.

Finally I bring roses home, when my husband asks me where from they appeared I lie that a male friend had presented them to me, and my husband immediately inquires if that male friend could help him to get a special bearing for repairing of his car.

I put flowers into a vase, still not wishing to give up, planning to carry them where they were intended originally, but next morning their stems droop, buds wrinkle and there is a heap of fallen petals on the table.

And then, having recalled that I myself had a birthday not long ago, I decide that once in my life I can also give myself such an expensive and beautiful bouquet.

And having imagined that a faded bunch of roses has been just that bouquet, I feel pity only that in all yesterday's running and fussing I have not managed to make out those flowers appropriately and now will not even be able to recall what really they were.