The morning of Valentine's Day was like any other for Carla Thomas. As usual, she woke up early and headed off to work as a copywriter for her town's small newspaper. Although boring, she slaved away at it for the last seven years in the hopes of someday becoming a columnist for the publication. Unfortunately, her dedication to her work left little time for a social life.
As Carla made her way to her cubicle, set at the back of her tiny office, she couldn't help but notice the bright red bouquets of flowers on all of her lady co-workers desks. The sweet smell of roses and tulips invaded her nostrils. She had to hold her breath to keep from retching.
"Hey Carla!" Brittany's always-enthusiastic voice called from a nearby desk. "What are you doing for V-Day?
"What do you think?" Carla answered. "You know I think Valentine's Day is bogus."
"Or you just couldn't get a date." Brittany grumbled under her breath.
Carla ignored the comment. So she didn't date? She was too focused on her career and didn't have time for men, or at least that's what she kept telling herself.
As she neared her desk, she thought she noticed a flash of bright red through the opening of her cubicle. She quickened her pace.
Once inside, she had to rub her eyes to make sure they weren't deceiving her. Sitting directly in front of her monitor were two dozen red roses...and a card.
She snatched the card from the vase, just in case she woke up before getting to read the message.
It read:
Dear Carla,
I think you are wonderful. Please meet me tonight at O'Shannon's Bar at 7:30. 1748 Maple Drive. The hostess will be expecting you.
Carla flipped the card over in her hands to make sure it went to the right person. To: Carla Thomas. Yep, that was her. But who could have possibly sent such a mysterious gift?
She went through the catalogue of names in her head. The only two men she knew were the owner of the newspaper, and her best friend and editor, Steven.
The owner was married, and Steven had never shown any interest in her beside always complaining that she wasn't "bold enough," and nagging her to "go on a date, already."
"It must be a practical joke." She muttered to herself. She crumpled the card in her hand and tossed it in the garbage.
"Who are those from?" Came Brittany's bubbly voice from behind her, just as Carla was about to reintroduce her flowers to the mysterious card.
"Did you send these?" Carla accused.
Brittany furrowed her eyebrows. "Why would I send you flowers?"
Carla's face turned scarlet. Of course it didn't make sense for Brittany to drop so much money on a practical joke. Nothing was making sense to her today.
"Never mind." She said as she turned back into her cubicle.
Carla waited a few minutes for Brittany to trudge back over to her own desk, then she sneakily scooped the card back out of the trash to re-examine it. O'Shannon's Bar? Carla had never even heard of it.
The rest of the day went on as usual. Carla proofread a bunch of other people's columns, paused for lunch, answered a few e-mails, and then got ready to go home.
Still miffed about the date she apparently had tonight, she hadn't decided if she would play along with the joke or not.
As soon as she entered her house, she made a beeline to her refrigerator. Empty. She desperately needed to do some grocery shopping. Her stomach groweled and her mind wandered to what might be on the menu at the unfamiliar pub where her supposed date was to take place. Her body shivered, but it wasn't from the cold of the refrigerator. It was at the thought of going on a blind date.
At that moment, she made up her mind, slammed the refrigerator door, and dashed up the stairs to her closet. She flung the doors open, praying there would magically be something pretty to wear behind them. She rummaged through the garments, frantically flinging drab clothes around her room. She was about to give up hope when, miraculously, a flash of red caught her eye. She yanked on the material until a sexy little number her sister had bought her fell into her arms. She'd never worn it, mostly because she had never found an occasion that would be suitable.
In a matter of seconds, she had squeezed herself into the silk garment and yanked the zipper up her back. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she decided she didn't look half bad. In fact, she actually looked good. She quickly bent down to slip on the strappy shoes her sister had bought to go with the dress.
A little wobbly in the heels, she carefully made her way to the bathroom. Remembering the tube of bright red lipstick she had bought on impulse, she snatched it from her make-up bag and slathered it on her lips. She glanced at the mirror to see how it looked, when she noticed a problem. Her naturally curly, brown locks had a major case of the frizzies.
"Well, not much I can do about that." She said to herself. "Maybe my date has a thing for exotic women." She giggled at her own joke.
Next thing she knew, she was out the door and driving toward the mystery pub. The GPS Steven had bought her for Christmas so she would "try and get out more" was finally coming in handy.
She pulled up to the pub, and almost tripped over herself as she made her way to the front. Unfortunately, the windows were tinted, so she had no idea what was awaiting her inside. She inhaled deeply and held it as she swung open the heavy, front door.
She was greeted with a bar full of men. Every stool had a male sitting upon it. Every pool table was occupied with guys. A male hostess immediately came to greet her.
"Carla Thomas?" He asked.
"I think that's me." Carla stammered.
"Right this way." The hostess was all business as he led her to a single booth in the back of the bar.
"Your table, my lady."
Carla giggled at his formality and slid into the booth. Directly in front of her sat another dozen roses with yet another card. It read:
Dear Carla,
I'm sorry to inform you that I will not be able to make it tonight. But if you would be so kind as to notice all the men surrounding you.
Carla looked up to see what seemed like a hundred pair of male eyes fixed solely upon her.
You see, they each received a card asking them to come eat free hot wings and meet a beautiful brunette. They are all single, and they are all here for you. Please do not disappoint them.
Again the card wasn't signed. Carla looked back up as one of the men sitting at the bar made his way over to her, bringing with him a drink and another card.
"Hi Carla. I'm Mike."
Carla giggled like a school girl. "Nice to meet you."
"May I sit?"
"Sure."
"Before we get to know each other, I was instructed to give you this." He slid another card toward her.
One more thing. After tonight, you should have no trouble finding a date. This doesn't happen every day. Write a story about it. Your editor will love it.
Love, Steven
P.S. - You look beautiful. I knew you would.
Carla slowly slid the card into her purse, a smile firmly planted on her face. Write a story? She never thought of that before. She continued her date with Mike, all the while looking forward to her chance to get home and finally climb the ladder she had been ignoring all these years.
She would write a great story to pull her out of her copywriting slump. But, more importantly, she got to live the great story first.