Miles Spriggs stood in front of the hallway mirror of his elegant London brownstone, adjusted his bowtie and tilted his fedora just a touch to one side. He smiled at his own reflection noting how white his teeth shone in the morning sun. He looked brilliant. He felt brilliant. The grandfather clock chimed ten o'clock.

"Well, I'll be Mr. Spriggs. You are even surprisingly on time today," Miles said to himself. He grabbed his gold-topped cane, unbolted his front door and stepped out into a gorgeous fall morning. 

A good night's sleep behind him, a large breakfast of bacon and eggs, a strong hot cup of coffee in his stomach and he felt he could conquer the world. He felt light on his feet, like he had finally been freed from some tether around his waist or shackles about his ankles.

"In fact, today I think I'll buy Ms. Petunia Brite a large bouquet of her favorite flowers and confess my undying love for her." As he spoke, the mailman hesitated at the bottom of Mile's front steps, his cheeks flushing red.

"You can hand those directly to me sir," said Miles. The mailman shoved a bundle of letters in Mile's kid-gloved hand and hurried on.

Miles strode down the street. A cool fall breeze tingled against his skin. "Soon it will be winter my dear," Miles said to his uptight neighbor walking her uptight dog. Her look of disdain and the yip her pup gave him didn't derail his good mood in the least.

A considerably older woman, Petunia Brite had never taken Miles seriously despite the fact they spent almost every day together. Neither of them had anything much better to do, her being a wealthy widow and he a 42-year-old trust fund child. I mean why grow up when the family fortune can support a life of leisure. Never bothering to take on any real responsibilities, Petunia chided Miles that he would forget his own head if it wasn't screwed on.

Petunia of course liked petunias and Mr. Bowery's flower shop, conveniently located halfway between their homes, always carried an excellent selection.

"Good morning Mr. Bowery," said Miles smiling broadly.

"Good morning, Mr. Spriggs," he replied. "Aren't you cold on this windy fall day?"

"I'm filled with a fiery passion for life, dear sir. Today it could snow and sleet and it would feel to me like a steamy midsummer's eve."

Mr. Bowery smiled and Mile's spunk. "Will you be buying some petunias for Ms. Brite then?"

"Of course. I'll take two dozen of your finest," replied Miles. He kept his credit card account on file, so frequent a customer he was of Mr. Bowery's shop.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the store with a massive bouquet. He buried his face in them enjoying their aroma and smiling to himself at the thought of his love's pleased reaction to the gift.

He nearly ran into a young woman and her two small children.

"Sorry dears!" he said. The woman pulled her children close and all three stared at him without saying a word as he skipped down the street. Being a rather eccentric dandy, their odd response didn't phase Miles in the least.

A few minutes later he rapped on Petunia Brite's ornate front door. Her butler opened it and ushered him in.

"Mr. Miles Spriggs," the butler announced opening the grand doors of Petunia's receiving parlour.

"Thank you, Arther," she responded sweetly. "We'll take some tea before we leave."

Miles was already down on one knee before his beloved, the flowers thrust against her ample bosom.

"Not again Miles," tutted Petunia.

"But Petunia, my greatest love, I haven't professed my feelings for you in over two weeks."

"No, Miles. Your trousers. You've forgotten them again."

Miles looked down and grinned sheepishly. "Oops," he said.

"I would have thought you might have noticed on such a cool windy day. How will we ever tour the museum?" signed Petunia. I'll have to send Arthur back to your house to retrieve them."