The Wilful Sunflower

Last night I donned pink for a pink-themed party and hopped into my little car, essaying out into the unknown. I'd never been to my friend's place before and the area was totally unfamiliar to me.

I got to the correct street and was overawed by the huge mansion-like houses flanking both sides of the road. One even had a security guard in a booth by the main gate -- I stopped to ask for directions but he didn't seem to know much about the area. You see, usually houses are odd- or even-numbered on either side of the road with numbers increasing or decreasing exponentially as one progresses up or down the street. Unfortunately, I'd been warned that the houses on this particular street had been arranged without any sort of order, and it seemed only too true. Worse, some of the houses didn't even DISPLAY a number on their gateposts!

It was past 9pm by then, and dark, and I wasn't sure where the road would lead me to. So I decided to look for a house with lots of cars parked nearby -- that might be the one, right? I found one such house, parked, grabbed my purse and a little gift for the host, climbed out of my car, and proceeded towards said house (which had no number; I looked!).

The gate was open, garden spotlights and porch lights blazing, but the garden was empty. Making my way past a table-tennis table in the porch, I hesitantly tried the front door... which swung open. I stuck my head in and found not a single person in sight. Strains of lovely classical music wafted through the house, but the place was empty. Listening carefully, I could make out the sound of distant voices.

Slipping off my shoes, I was about to step into the house when I reconsidered. If at all I had the wrong house, I really didn't want to be caught stalking through the sitting-room, you know? I changed my mind and decided to try going round the back instead.

Well, I walked round to the back and found a swimming pool and patio, but still no people. The murmur of voices seemed to be getting louder, though, so I kept going -- and came upon about six to eight people sitting down to dinner in a room with French windows opening out onto the patio. They stared at me; I stared back at them.

The thing is, they were white (read: foreigners), so I KNEW this couldn't possibly be the house I was looking for. Can you say "gate-crashing"? Okay, stay calm, I told myself. "I'm so sorry. I'm looking for house no. 57. Would you happen to know where that is?"

The host graciously stepped out to speak with me and walked me back to the gate, trying to figure out where my friend's home might be located. He said he'd bought this place five years ago and had come to know the area fairly well by now. We laughed about the seemingly haphazard house numberings and then he asked me something. I was so busy feeling embarrassed that I didn't hear him properly and thought he was asking my name. It wasn't till he said, "I can't think of any Sunflower living nearby" that I realised he'd been asking whom I'd planned to visit.

Sunflower, you doofus, I thought, quickly saying, "She has a daughter named Jamie. It's actually her daughter I'm friends with." Yes, Sunflower, you've just confused him more. Now he'll be trying to think of a lady named Sunflower with a daughter named Jamie and you haven't the faintest clue what Jamie's mother's real name is. Sheesh.

My erstwhile host was very kind, considering I'd interrupted his dinner and he didn't know me from Eve. He clarified the address with me and when he'd confirmed that I was on the correct street, asked if I'd gone right to the end in my quest for no. 57. When I said I hadn't, he encouraged me to try it. "If you can't find the house, come back here and have a glass of wine with us," he said. That was so sweet. (I'd never have done it, though -- I'd have expired from embarrassment!)

Turns out I did find the correct house slightly further down the road. This is something that would only ever happen to me...