It all came to a head last Thursday. It was my birthday, and then out of the blue a big bunch of flowers arrived from my husband (he’s such a romantic!). They were absolutely gorgeous and it was such a surprise. Everyone crowded around to admire them and that’s when Rosie-Lynn asked in a loud voice (that’s the blackberry pie maker): “Is that all you’re getting?” She then proceeded to explain the meaning of each flower and its colour. By the end of her explanation, had I been more gullible, I would have been convinced that my husband was having an affair and was taking the house and the kids and moving to Bermuda.
And then last Monday – you’ve guessed it – it was Rosie-Lynn’s birthday. Did her husband send her flowers or what? Plus there was a beautiful diamond necklace. (I’m not too mean not to admit that, yes, it was beautiful). The whole world knew it was Rosie-Lynn’s birthday. They merely had to hear the oohs and aahs to know the reality. To cap it all off she turned to me and said, “Now that’s how you celebrate a birthday”.
I’ve always disliked her, but her undercurrent of supercilious needling and so on gets me down. In fact I have to make an effort to remain positive and pleasant.
Then just yesterday Jacinta told me a few things about Rosie-Lynn. Rosie Lynn wasn’t married. She lived alone. She sent herself the necklace and flowers. And her birthday wasn’t last Monday – not unless she celebrates her birthday four times a year. I was a little bit relieved, not in a spiteful way but it was nice to know the place from whence Rosie-Lynn’s spitefulness emanated.
A group of us went out to lunch, but Rosie-Lynn didn’t come with us thank goodness. And when we got back to the office, Rosie Lynn was lying on the floor. She had “done herself in”.
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