wishing for more wishes

It was right after he was telling us about his gardening techniques. About how he made sure every seed went down exactly one and one half inches and how when the sunflowers bloomed he would put hats on them so that they would look (though he may have said "feel") more dignified.

It was just following her apologies for having picked his snapdragons and lilies and forget-me-nots the day before and her explanation that she didn't know he had put forth so tedious an effort and her excuse that she thought the plants were decorations left about by the crew.

It was immediately prior to the conversation we all of us had about our favorite launderers and dry-cleaners back at our respective homes, to lighten the mood after we had recovered from the initial shock.

It was a while before we saw the hazy pancake of land in the distance, amidst bookshelf cliffs and a strange glow.

It was some time subsequent from the point at which we had gotten at least knee-deep into our cups and were all a fair linen closet's worth of sheets to the wind.

It was postliminary to him jokingly proposing to her and going off to find a crowbar and a clawhammer while she mumbled on about engagement rings and flower arrangements, mortgages and piano lessons for "the children."

That's when we realized that the crates were filled with dynamite, not diamonds, and we threw ourselves overboard.