"The Bell Jar" (extract) by Sylvia Plath, 1963
That afternoon my mother had brought me the roses.
"Save them for my funeral," I said.
My mother’s face puckered, and she looked ready to cry.
"But Esther, don’t you remember what day it is today?"
I thought it might be Saint Valentine’s day.
"It’s your birthday.”
And that was when I dumped the roses in the wastebasket.