Elly spun around. She couldn’t see the back of her pants. She swiped the area with her hands. It came away brown.
Kill me now. Please. Kill me now. Oh God, just reach down with your mighty hand….
She brought it to her nose. Chocolate. That was chocolate she smelled. She brought it to her mouth. Yes. It was chocolate. It was then that she looked up to see a small group of horrified waiters looking at her, mouths agape. She realized instantly what that looked like. She held up her hand in an awkward wave.
“It’s just chocolate. Not poop. Didn’t poop my pants! Just chocolate. I must have knocked into the chocolate fountain … no biggie.”
She saw two cute caterer girls widen their eyes at each other and start to whisper. The deejay shook his head in annoyance. Elly’s face burned, and she felt shame and total embarrassment. Suddenly she was back in Georgia, sitting in her car, her head against the steering wheel. A hole in her stomach opened up, and she let the negative feelings rush at her. Elly felt her apron tight around her waist, her wide legs in her Capri pants, her hair plastered against her forehead.
What am I doing? Why did I think I could do this? Gone was the beautiful, sassy florist, and the woman rejected by so many—rejected by the man who was supposed to love her—rose up unwelcomed inside of her. And she had chocolate on her pants, which were also ripped up the leg. The room swam before her, a bright river of pinks and greens. Here I go, Elly thought, and pressed her palms against her eyes. She felt a light hand on her shoulder. She looked up. There was an elderly man smiling down at her, his wispy white hair sticking in all directions. His kind brown eyes looked past his Willy Wonka glasses straight into her embarrassment.
“What the hell are ya’ll looking at?” he snapped at the gawking crowd. “This woman could use a paper towel! You, with the earrings,” he gestured at the punk deejay, “can you get some paper towels and stop standing there with your mouth open?”
The deejay grunted and skulked off. The rest of the crowd disseminated, murmuring to themselves. Elly turned around to the man who had saved her from a very public breakdown.
“Thank you, thank you.”
She paused.
“How bad is it?”
Elly slowly turned around, showing her chocolate covered rear to the stranger. A smile spread on his face from ear to ear.
“Well, you do look like you have had an unfortunate accident with, well … with a porta-potty.”
Elly smiled. Then she giggled. And with that, a huge laugh burst forth from her belly. The laugh opened up, and before she knew it, Elly had tears running down her face. She put her hand on the old man’s shoulder and leaned against him, this stranger, and laughed. The old man was chuckling as well.
“Here sweetheart, look in the mirror.” He grabbed a gilded mirror from one of the tables. Elly cringed. Across the back of her khaki pants spread a dark chocolate stain the size of a dinner plate. It shimmered in the sunlight.
“That is really bad. Yikes.”
The man gestured at her, “Could you tie your apron around backwards?”
Elly’s face lit up. Thank God. She spun her apron around, covering the stain. She pushed her bangs out of her face.
“I think I’m good. You saved my life today!!”
The old man smiled and nodded. “No problem darling. I’m here for the wedding. I work with the groom’s dad.” He patted her head in a grandfatherly way. “This was the highlight of my day. I hate these people and their ridiculous parties.” And with that, her angel in a suit sauntered off into the sunset, his walker propelling him slowly forward.
Elly committed herself to the task at hand, and ignored the thick brown liquid dripping off her behind. She quickly gathered up her trash and loaded it on to the cart. One last check of each centerpiece—pulling off a petal here, moving a hydrangea there—and she was finished. There was one last thing to do: she had to see the bride. Pushing her cart through the gravel gardens, she allowed herself one quick glance back at the tent. It was marvelous. A paradise made of the work of hundreds of people … and lots of daddy’s money.
Arriving at the garden house, Elly checked her apron, making sure it was covering the cow pie on her pants, and ducked into the bride’s dressing room. It looked like a bridal store had exploded. Pink high heels littered the floor. Bras were strewn about. Numerous bridesmaids, all wearing pale-green dresses, were gossiping excitedly and filling the air with aerosol hairspray. Elly doubted any of it was getting on their actual up-dos that were pulling back their eyes to give them a wild-eyed, mad bridesmaid look.
The mother of the bride was fussing over her daughter at the mirror. “I told her that we didn’t want the cake with butter pecan on all the sections, but just the top. And I look at our contract and it says, ‘butter pecan on the second half.’ Can you believe it? I just hope that today it’s not on the first layer….”
The timid bride, Leslie, was looking more and more terrified as her mom yanked on her hair. Elly felt for her.
“Hi Leslie! I was just stopping in to say congratulations and wish you luck.”
Leslie jumped up from her chair and threw her arms around Elly.
“Thank you SO much. They are so beautiful. I love them!”
Elly unwrapped Leslie from herself and eyed Lizette over her shoulder, scowling. Elly looked at Leslie and grabbed her hands. “I wish you many blessings on your marriage. The day goes so fast, make sure you take the time to step back and treasure what is—”
“Okay, okay, this bride needs to get married.” Lizette swept in, pushing Elly toward the door. “Thank you, Elly. Great job with the flowers! They look lovely.”
Elly raised an eyebrow at Lizette.
“Really? Didn’t you want to ask Leslie about her choice of greens?”
Lizette scowled at Elly.
Leslie looked confused. “You didn’t like my green?” she asked Lizette.
“No, it was fine, love, I just thought clover would have been pretty, but it looks amazing now. I was wrong. Here, why don’t we put in your tiara?”
She had a sour look splayed across her heavily made-up face. Triumph, thought Elly. She had never liked Lizette, but today she had been especially rude. Ah, sweet victory. She savored the feeling. It was just then that some chocolate dripped off her pants, under the apron, onto the floor.
“What was that?” Lizette gasped. Her voice got very shrill. The accent disappeared. “Was that poop? What IS that??”
“Okay. Thanks! Congrats, Leslie!” Elly darted out of the room, holding her apron tight around her behind. It wasn’t until she was in her sweltering van that she let herself truly relax. Her shoulders sank into the cushion as the air-conditioning blasted on her face. She leaned her head back on the seat. It was over.
Thank you, God, she breathed, sending up a silent prayer of thanks. Then she picked up her cell phone and dialed Snarky Teenager, who was minding the shop.
“Hi, it’s me. Get ready
