Copyright Dale Rogerson

Today was bound to be all go, but it’s more like impetigo, a sore rash of a day, seemingly without end.

I’m all for perfectionism, but hospital corners on table cloths for heaven’s sake? It’s snowed, so suddenly they’re not white enough. I had to reorder the centrepieces because a couple wilted overnight and poor chef has binned all he’d prepared. The soup’s over seasoned, the vegetables are cut too small, the spinach and ricotta ravioli not uniform enough.

Still, it’s her opening night, everything must be right.

But please, please stop snowing; God preserve us, if no one turns up.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.