fussbudget
\ FUHS-buhj-it \ , noun;
1. a fussy or needlessly fault-finding person.
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Eva furiously scrambled around the room, looking at every
single minute detail on every single table.
She eyed the decor with an eye that combined a military drill sergeant
and a ferret scrambling around a room.
“Would
you calm down already? Everything’s
fine.” Peter said as he watched he fiance check the room yet again.
“No no,
everything’s not fine. I can feel
it.” Eva said. Her panic colored her words as she examined
the placement of another center piece, making sure it was in the exact center
of the large, round table.
“Yes, it
is. How many times have you been through
the room? Five? Ten?
Trust me, if you haven’t found anything wrong yet, you’re probably not
going to this time either.”
“There’s
something I missed. I know it, I can
feel it and…What’s this?” She said,
going over to another table. She
examined the centerpiece like a detective pouring over an obscure piece of
evidence. “Ah ah, see? See, I knew it. I just knew there was something wrong.”
Peter
rolled his eyes and joined Eva at the table.
He looked at the elaborate bouquet with a somewhat less critical eye
than she was. He found nothing wanting
with it.
“It’s
exactly like every other one here.”
“No no,
no it’s not. There’s one flower missing.” She said.
She furiously pointed to a cluster of small, white flowers on the side
of the arrangement. Peter looked alternately
at Eva and the flowers, then let out a sigh.
“So what
if there is? It’s not like anyone else
will notice.”
“I’ll
notice.” She said, looking at Peter with
a worried expression.
“No, you
won’t. Trust me. Once things get underway, you’ll forget all
about the flower. Besides, how do you
even know there’s one missing? It’s not
like you’ve counted every single flower in every single centerpiece. I bet they all have different numbers
anyway. Maybe if it was a rose or a lily
or something big, but not one of the little ones.” He placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder
and gently guided her away from the tables.
“No, no,
I’m sure someone will notice. I don’t
know who, but someone will.”
“Honey,
honey, calm down a bit. You’re turning
into one of those women on TV.”
“What?” She asked.
Her expression changed instantly from one of worry to one of confusion.
“It’s a
show some of the ladies at the office watch.
It’s called, um, well I don’t remember what it’s called. But it’s about these women who go crazy about
their weddings. I sometimes see a few
minutes of it in the break room and usually get a good laugh out of it. But now
you’re one of them.”
“No I’m
not.” She said defensively.
“I could
call up the TV station right now, and you’d fit right in. I bet if we recreated some of the planning
process you could even get on it. Well,
I mean, we’d have to fake a lot more shouting and stuff, but still.”
Eva
paused for a moment before responding.
Peter could practically hear her thought process as she went through not
just the day’s events, but everything else involved as well.
“Oh. Oh wow.
You’re right. You are absolutely right.” She said.
Eva slumped down in the nearest chair.
“I don’t believe it, but I’ve gone crazy over this. I mean seriously, what was I thinking? I’m over here fussing over a missing flower.”
“Hey, it
could’ve been worse.” Peter said as he
sat down next to her.
“How?”
“You
could’ve gotten out a measuring tape.
That would’ve been bad.” He
said. Eva tried to suppress a chuckle,
but didn’t quite succeed. “Maybe you
could’ve also gotten out one of those light measuring things from the
photographers and made sure all the lighting was exact.”
“Ok, ok
I get it.” She said. “Still, you can’t blame me for wanting
everything to be perfect, can you?”
“No, I
suppose not. It is something that only
happens once, right?”
“Yeah.” She said wistfully. “We hope.”
Peter’s
head darted over to look at Eva. Those
two words suddenly sent him into panic mode.
That is, until he saw the wry grin on her face. He smiled and sat back in the chair.
“We
hope.”
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Not sure what to say about this one really. Wait, I think...oh, nope, I lost it, sorry. Oh well, maybe next time.
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