Pomme Terre

First thing first.

I called ahead to a shop, requesting them to send flour to the clinic Faye is working at, addressed to her.

"Just to confirm it is flour and not flower, sir?" The gift shopkeeper asked.

"Yes. F-L-O-U-R attached with a note," I replied.

"Very well... practical," she responded lightheartedly. "And the message, sir?"

"Sweetie, it is time. See you later. From Mr Potato-Head."

And next, work.

Collins scrolled and previewed the files on my iPad. "Hmm... Is this the best you can come up with?" He was wearing a bow tie, with a short sleeve shirt and a pair of short pants. As usual, his hair combed neatly not a strand fell out of place.

"Don't tell me you had already started on the main board, or I might have to tell you to start all over again," Collins continued with a dismissive tone, as if dramatized and trying to provoke for fun.

No, I haven't started anything, but an artist has his own ego.

"Collins, from an artist to another," I said carefully, with a smile on my face so that I won't appear as too rude. "You asked for me. I stand by my work that I will deliver something that the people will love and able to connect to. Now, if you are going to judge my work as if you are grading your students, go ahead and damn right ask your students to do the job."