(no subject)
I'm not sure how to start this letter, so I'm going to jump straight into it and pour out whatever comes to my mind. I thought you -- the recepients -- would understand this the best. It's not something I can really tell just anyone because I feel like it's exposing myself a little more than I'm comfortable with.
My husband and I were married on August 6th, 2011. Since the wedding, we have been incredibly broke; the wedding itself was very inexpensive, but there have been errors with the Veterans Association regarding my husband's pay and we are currently very, very poor. Long story short, the local churches and harvesters are the sole sources of food because we can't afford to buy any. We live with my best friend and his mom because we have no where else to go and sleep on an air mattress because we can't buy a bedframe. The one thing that has been keeping us both sane, grounded and running smoothly is the local Renaissance Festival. We get next to nothing out of it financially nor materialistically, but entertaining strangers and performing has kept us both happy and provides an escape from our frustrating real lives.
In the last year, there has been lots of drama brewing; this particular story will focuse on the flower sales. Prior to this year, a second party would come to our festival and sell roses, carnations and other various flowers to our patrons. As far as I know, this was the majority of their income. This year, they were bought out and replaced by our own castmates, the gypsies. I'll spare you the drama surrounding the gypsies, but I will tell you many, many people were angry enough to the point that there is a widespread boycott of the sales of the roses. many people, cast and patrons alike, now refuse to buy roses from them because of the buyout. Up until this point, I was one of them. As a result, the sales were absolutely horrible. From what I know, a lucky gypsy would sell three roses out of ten on a good day (before, the flower girls sold several baskets piled high on their bad days).
With all of that context in mind, here is where my story actually starts.
By some stroke of luck and fate, I had eight dollars in my pocket on sunday. This eight dollars had to last me until at least Wednesday and it all had to be saved for food. I was walking across the fairegrounds to go from the pubsing stage to the front gate for the last huzzah before we closed our gates for the day. On the way there, you have to pass the gypsy camp, where you will always see at least one gypsy struggling to sell roses to passerbys. This time was no different, but there was one little yet large variation: there was a hopeful-looking girl standing there, about 14-15, and the gypsy was hawking for somebody to "present" her a rose. She looked somewhere between desperate and forlorn and i felt bad for her so without a second thought, I offered to do it for her (despite that we were both girls). As I stepped up to take the rose and give it to her, I was told by the gypsy that I had to buy it first; I'd misheard him from the distance, as it turned out.
Now, recall everything I told you earlier: my husband and I are broke, struggling to eat, struggling to make it to the festival, struggling with our own anger and frustration at our daily lives and struggling overall in the first two months of our marriage. Roses were three dollars; I had five to eat on until Wednesday. I was one of the many that strongly disapproved of taking the flower girls out of their jobs and was vehemently boycotting them, along with others.
I had no idea who this teenaged girl was. I'd never seen her before at the festival, she never spoke to me, talked to me, never did anything for me, but she wanted a rose -- a rose that meant giving up nearly half of my cash, that meant turning myself into a hypocrit, that made me feel as if I was 'betraying' the original flower girls. This girl has never done anything for me! yet at that exact moment, she was desperately hoping that somebody -- me! -- would buy her a rose. I had no idea who she was or where she came from. Maybe after leaving the festival site, she would go back to her million-dollar home with her doting parents and find a ferrari outside her window as a "just because" present. Maybe she would go home and lock her door and plug her ears so she wouldn't hear her parents fighting. Maybe she'd go home and play with her baby brother. Maybe she'd go home and worry about going to school the next day because she was afraid of bullies. Maybe she'd go home and go to school the next day and be the bully. The fact is I have no idea who she is and I have no reason in Heaven, Hell or on Earth to break my boycott and give up eating for a day just to buy some dumb teenage girl a rose.
But then I had a thought: you only get out of the world what you put in. Yes, I've been sad, angry and depressed lately. I am broke. My husband is broke. Gods know when we'll get the money to pay our bills. Yet what reason do I have to not buy this girl a rose? Absolutely none! No, she's never done anything for me, but does that mean I shouldn't do something kind for her?
That thought was all it took to make my decision. I took out three dollars -- giving up some gas or some food -- and handed it to the gypsy. He traded me the rose and I got down on one knee and presented the rose to her just as I had planned. She took my one hand in both of hers and kissed my knuckles, looking happy, estatic even, that somebody finally bought her a simple yellow rose. While her attention was raptly mine, I told her, in plain words, "My love, you are beautiful. Do not let any man, woman or otherwise tell you any different -- ever."
As far as I know, she was at a loss for words past "Thank you." as I stood up and went to thank the gypsy, it turned out he'd been trying to get someone to buy me a rose for days! Imagine that! I told him it was better this way anyway and I also told him, "You only get out of the world what you put in."
My husband and I were married on August 6th, 2011. Since the wedding, we have been incredibly broke; the wedding itself was very inexpensive, but there have been errors with the Veterans Association regarding my husband's pay and we are currently very, very poor. Long story short, the local churches and harvesters are the sole sources of food because we can't afford to buy any. We live with my best friend and his mom because we have no where else to go and sleep on an air mattress because we can't buy a bedframe. The one thing that has been keeping us both sane, grounded and running smoothly is the local Renaissance Festival. We get next to nothing out of it financially nor materialistically, but entertaining strangers and performing has kept us both happy and provides an escape from our frustrating real lives.
In the last year, there has been lots of drama brewing; this particular story will focuse on the flower sales. Prior to this year, a second party would come to our festival and sell roses, carnations and other various flowers to our patrons. As far as I know, this was the majority of their income. This year, they were bought out and replaced by our own castmates, the gypsies. I'll spare you the drama surrounding the gypsies, but I will tell you many, many people were angry enough to the point that there is a widespread boycott of the sales of the roses. many people, cast and patrons alike, now refuse to buy roses from them because of the buyout. Up until this point, I was one of them. As a result, the sales were absolutely horrible. From what I know, a lucky gypsy would sell three roses out of ten on a good day (before, the flower girls sold several baskets piled high on their bad days).
With all of that context in mind, here is where my story actually starts.
By some stroke of luck and fate, I had eight dollars in my pocket on sunday. This eight dollars had to last me until at least Wednesday and it all had to be saved for food. I was walking across the fairegrounds to go from the pubsing stage to the front gate for the last huzzah before we closed our gates for the day. On the way there, you have to pass the gypsy camp, where you will always see at least one gypsy struggling to sell roses to passerbys. This time was no different, but there was one little yet large variation: there was a hopeful-looking girl standing there, about 14-15, and the gypsy was hawking for somebody to "present" her a rose. She looked somewhere between desperate and forlorn and i felt bad for her so without a second thought, I offered to do it for her (despite that we were both girls). As I stepped up to take the rose and give it to her, I was told by the gypsy that I had to buy it first; I'd misheard him from the distance, as it turned out.
Now, recall everything I told you earlier: my husband and I are broke, struggling to eat, struggling to make it to the festival, struggling with our own anger and frustration at our daily lives and struggling overall in the first two months of our marriage. Roses were three dollars; I had five to eat on until Wednesday. I was one of the many that strongly disapproved of taking the flower girls out of their jobs and was vehemently boycotting them, along with others.
I had no idea who this teenaged girl was. I'd never seen her before at the festival, she never spoke to me, talked to me, never did anything for me, but she wanted a rose -- a rose that meant giving up nearly half of my cash, that meant turning myself into a hypocrit, that made me feel as if I was 'betraying' the original flower girls. This girl has never done anything for me! yet at that exact moment, she was desperately hoping that somebody -- me! -- would buy her a rose. I had no idea who she was or where she came from. Maybe after leaving the festival site, she would go back to her million-dollar home with her doting parents and find a ferrari outside her window as a "just because" present. Maybe she would go home and lock her door and plug her ears so she wouldn't hear her parents fighting. Maybe she'd go home and play with her baby brother. Maybe she'd go home and worry about going to school the next day because she was afraid of bullies. Maybe she'd go home and go to school the next day and be the bully. The fact is I have no idea who she is and I have no reason in Heaven, Hell or on Earth to break my boycott and give up eating for a day just to buy some dumb teenage girl a rose.
But then I had a thought: you only get out of the world what you put in. Yes, I've been sad, angry and depressed lately. I am broke. My husband is broke. Gods know when we'll get the money to pay our bills. Yet what reason do I have to not buy this girl a rose? Absolutely none! No, she's never done anything for me, but does that mean I shouldn't do something kind for her?
That thought was all it took to make my decision. I took out three dollars -- giving up some gas or some food -- and handed it to the gypsy. He traded me the rose and I got down on one knee and presented the rose to her just as I had planned. She took my one hand in both of hers and kissed my knuckles, looking happy, estatic even, that somebody finally bought her a simple yellow rose. While her attention was raptly mine, I told her, in plain words, "My love, you are beautiful. Do not let any man, woman or otherwise tell you any different -- ever."
As far as I know, she was at a loss for words past "Thank you." as I stood up and went to thank the gypsy, it turned out he'd been trying to get someone to buy me a rose for days! Imagine that! I told him it was better this way anyway and I also told him, "You only get out of the world what you put in."