Sunday, March 21, 2010
On Friday, Christopher had flowers delivered to me for the first time. I've gotten flowers before, store bought, hand picked, those of the paper variety- but I've never had them delivered to me before.
All day I had sort of been grumbling under my breath about how he didn't do anything for our anniversary. Neither had I, really. Sure, I had pulled out some old wedding photos, I had written a heartfelt blog, I had made a berry cake (it was supposed to be scones, but... such is life), I had cleaned the house. Those are things I do every day though. I hadn't gone out of my way to mark the occasion, and here I was pouting like a puppy because he hadn't either. I wasn't mean about it, but I did make several light sarcastic comments to get my "you hurt my feelings" point across, which is one of the most awful ways to do it, isn't it?
That evening, as I relaxed on the couch, netbook in lap, the doorbell rang.
Christopher: "Will you get that?"
Me: "No, I've got my computer all set up, you're right there by the door, can't you-"
Christopher: "I think you better get it"
I knew before I even got to the door that all of my complaining, although most of it was kept to myself, was coming back to bite me. I peeked through the peep hole, and there in my driveway was an unfamiliar car. Standing in front of me, was an unfamiliar man- holding a large amount of flowers. Beautiful flowers, that I suddenly felt guilty for recieving.
I opened the door, scribbled my name down on the paper coated clipboard, accepted my bouquet, and immediately hugged my husband, who turns out, hadn't forget about our special day at all.
Even though I have these words tattooed on my inner left forearm, I thought maybe we could all use a reminder...