Frustrated by a dearth of tulips at the local florist, Mrs. Mangum, unwilling to do without them, decided to make her own. She knew tulips were spring flowers, of course, but since her turn to host the Greenville Ladies Who Lunch meeting came about in early October and tulips were her favorite flower since they were essentially unscented and did not rile her allergies, she went to the local art supply store in search of tissue paper in fall colors. After wandering about for a quarter of an hour and finding nothing but bargain bins full of ocean-themed paper plates and Fourth of July napkins, she decided to ask a sales associate for help.

“Ahem.” Mrs. Mangum cleared her throat. Unfortunately there was no one nearby as the store was very large and, because it was a Tuesday morning, quite empty of customers. She decided to try again.

“Hello?” This time she endeavored to be a bit louder. “Yoohoo! Is anyone who works here about?”

“Yes ma’am. May I be of service?” A disheveled young man with a goatee and bad haircut appeared behind her right shoulder.

Stifling a scream, Mrs. Mangum tightened her grip on the handle of her newest Coach handbag. With false bravado and over-enunciation through pursed lips she asked, “Where may I find the tissue paper? I need autumnal hues.”

That would be aisle twenty-three, maam. Over by the candle-making supplies.

“Pardon? And that would be?” Mrs. Mangum was not interested in making candles, or in wandering around that warehouse-sized store any longer in her pointy-toed kitten-heeled pumps with the buckle that emphasized her toe cleavage so nicely. Her bunion was beginning to hurt and she was irritable from having missed Martha Stewart that morning. “Can’t you show me, please?”

“What? Oh. Certainly. Follow me, ma’am.” He clicked his heels, turned left and led Mrs. Mangum down the aisle.

The lady was relieved and hurried along behind the young man, even allowing herself to wonder what his derriere looked like under his long employee overshirt.

“Here you go. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, young man,” she replied primly, turning to face the display of tissue paper. Happy at last, she began choosing among the two dozen or so available colors. Then, with an armful of paper packets, she headed in the direction of what she thought was the front of the store. Unfortunately for Mrs. Mangum, however, she made a wrong turn and ended up on the candle-making aisle with its large display of scented oil samplers, opened to entice customers to purchase.

How inauspicious for Mrs. Mangum, that was. By the time she groped her way to the front of the store, her eyelids were nearly shut and her lips swollen bigger than Angelina Jolies. Her cute button nose, so coveted by many of the Greenville Ladies Who Lunch, was bright red and fatter than a plum.

“Yound man! Cad yew pease call by hubband, Bistah Bangub? Heres da numba. Dell im by allergies god be. E deed to cumb ged be.”

Poor Mrs. Mangum. She ended up having to use jade bonsai trees for her luncheon, but at least they were unscented.