Peonies and Bourdeaux

I stand at Taylor's doorstep, peonies in hand. The other hovering at the door, curled into a fist.

“I can't do this... I can't do this...”

I lean up on the door, and finally knock.

“Just a minute,” she calls out.

The door opened and I am stunned. Taylor wears a dazzling dark ruby dress that showcases her voluptuous curves very nicely. My face reddens slightly.

“Come on in,” She says, smiling her special smile. The big, toothy smile she only gave to me. 

I follow her in, and she leads me into the dinning room. At the table are two white-wax candles, flames flickering in the din. We sit down, and she offers a glass of Bordeaux. 

“Why thank you,”

“My pleasure,” She stood. “Just a moment, I need to freshen up.”

She walks out of the room, and I sit there anxiously. This was the first time it has been just the two of us in such an intimate setting. Suddenly, from the direction of the bathroom I hear the sound of some great upheaval, of a belching. Cautiously, I get up and go to the bathroom door. I knock.

“Taylor? Taylor, are you okay?”

No Response. 

I open the door, pushing it forward. On the floor was Taylor, her mouth frothing, vomit covering her once sparkling dress.

“Oh... Oh my God... Taylor.... TAYLOR! Oh my God...”

I run into the living room and grab the phone. 

“911 Operator, where is the location of your emergency?”