In contrast, I recently commented on the very pretty earrings and matching necklace one of my friends was wearing. Her husband, she said, has an account at the jeweler in the nearby town where they live and every once in a while he picks out something he thinks she’ll like. Just because.
I once worked with a woman whose husband gave her flowers on Friday. Every. Single. Week.
Me, I’ve stuck a little florist’s card on my fridge.
It’s been there so long that the words my husband once wrote on it have faded away. I keep that card in plain sight because it came inscribed with “I love you” and was tucked into a bouquet of flowers and when he makes those gestures, their rarity makes them doubly precious.
Not that I’m going to tell him that.
I like romantic gestures (and books and movies and Michael Bublé, too) and hey, I’m not afraid to make them.
When himself came home from work last Saturday, I had candles glowing on the dining table, dinner ready to serve and a DVD just a Play button away. It was his birthday and I think that deserves a celebration.
Today is you-know-what day and I found the perfect silk-screened card:
Again, love is worth noting.
And now I’ve found a new occasion to extend the string of lovey celebrations a little longer: La Fete des Baisers – Festival of Kisses – in Roquemaure, France takes place the weekend closest to Valentine’s Day. This year the dates coincide, but next year he’d better look out…I’m going to market the heck out of a local version.
I figure it'll be very popular with everyone who forgot why February 14 sounded familiar.
After I wrote and scheduled the above post, my guy came home with a big bouquet of red flowers, a bottle of Red Bicyclette wine, a tub of strawberry ice cream, and a slab of dark chocolate almond bark.He got a kiss.