I’m not a “happily every after” kind of girl. I cringe from stories of over-the-top engagement proposals. And after four years of marriage, I don’t need grandiose gestures of love from my husband to know that he cares. Which is why weeks prior to my last birthday I sternly instructed him that no present was necessary. We were both feeling stretched a little thin and while certainly there were things that I wanted (i.e. the new lime green Dell netbook) there was nothing that I really, truly, needed. Besides, given our hectic schedules I would rather my husband spent time with me than shop for me. My husband vehemently objected, insisting that the occasion be marked with some material purchase. I smothered his protests, however, with practical posturing about finances and other such unromantic considerations. I insisted that his love was all I needed and I really, truly, meant it.
So, when my birthday rolled around, you can only imagine my surprised outrage when he handed me nothing but a thoughtfully written card generously extolling my wifely virtues. What the what? How dare he take me at my word!
I tried my best to enjoy our hand-in-hand, leisurely stroll through the park but every time he asked if something was bothering me I could do nothing more than give a frosty, “Nothing at all . . .why?” I continued my passive aggressive antics throughout the day, actively moping by my imperceptive husband while insisting that I was “fine,” albeit agitated by his questions. I mean, he should obviously know what’s bothering me! Isn’t it obvious?!
But as the day progressed to evening, my agitated thoughts gave way to regretful embarrassment. I comforted myself with the notion that I’m a modern girl and ours is a modern relationship. I grew up watching my father shower my mother with lavish gifts-roses, perfume, jewelry-and their marriage ended in divorce. Yes, meaningless, surprise purchases are by no means a necessary cornerstone of a long-lasting relationship. I was happy my husband and I didn’t need to give each other tangible signs of our affection. After all, flowers, no matter how beautiful, eventually wilt. Chocolates, too, get eaten, and Dell netbooks get replaced with newer technology.
But months later, as I pushed my suitcase through a hotel room door for a four-day work seminar for which I had been extremely anxious, I was shocked to be greeted by the most beautiful flower arrangement I had ever seen, sitting on the hotel bureau. Birds of Paradise and greenery exploded into this overwhelming expression of love, toting a card which wished me good luck in the days ahead. Despite my unwavering practical undulations I found myself overcome with so much emotion I could hardly move. Entranced by each colourful bloom and the caring sentiment it represented, my once pragmatic exterior began to wither. With shaking hands I delicately fingered the petals feeling ever so lucky and ever so loved.
With a lump in my throat I reached for the phone to call my darling mate. Hearing his voice on the other end I could scarcely choke back my tears, “You are so wonderful,” I cried tenderly, “but how much did you spend?!”
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