Ego-Flower
Wish Me The Wellest
I wished them all well the Ego-Flower said: Wish me weller than them
Ah, that one selfish flower among a field of unselfish (rather happy) ones: usually the taller one, the more colorful one, the Hollywood one (95 million followers), or the famous-only-for-being-famous one.
Flowers like this (though, luckily they’re rare) demand special treatment. And when special treatment is not forthcoming on-demand, they beg for special treatment. Please, please wish me weller than them. Please.
“And why should I?” I want to know.
The Ego-Flower hems and haws for a little while, sifting his store for the best answer, “Because,” he begins, “because I’m what makes this field the most beautiful field in all of California.”
“And you believe this, why?”
“Oh, I’ve been told many times. Everybody tells me that.”
“Define ‘Everybody’, please,” I say.
“Oh, the crow, the cow, the eagle, the cedar, the snail, the fox, the rain, the sun, everybody.”
“So, if I check with them, they’ll corroborate?”
“Perhaps they have forgotten.”
“That’s what I thought,” I say.
“Because nobody loves me?” suggests Ego-Flower as an alternative.
“Oh, we’re tilting in that direction now?” I say.
“I’m not tilting.”
“And why does nobody love you?”
“Envy,” says Ego-Flower.
“Envious of what, precisely?” I wonder.
“My height, my beauty, my scent, my nectar, my many bee-fans.”
“Speaking of bees,” I say, looking around. “Lots of them about, though not about you.”
“You’re scaring them away,” offers Ego-Flower.
“Oh, I see,” says I.
“So, perhaps, please, you could scram,” suggest Ego-Flower.
“Sure.”
“But not before wishing me weller than the others,” adds the starved-for-admiration one.
“You’re gonna have to do with the same amount of well-wishing as all your friends,” I inform him.
“They’re not my friends.”
“I can see why.”
“That’s not a very kind thing to say.”
“Sorry,” says I. “You’re right. That was kind of mean.”
“Wish me weller to make up for being mean,” suggests Ego-Flower.
“Not a chance,” says the still-feeling-a-little-mean me.
Ego-Flower sighs in that having been insulted but bearing it the way that Ego-Flowers have when they don’t get it all their way.
I watch the bees dance around the field, drunk with happy nectar for a while, then I continue my walk along the Pacific Ocean.
© Wolfstuff
