This shall be an insight into why my husband doesn't buy me flowers (very often) and why my BFF does buy me flowers (on occasion).
Today, the FedEx guy delivered a beautiful birthday bouquet to my doorstep (I feel like I should add for a bouncing baby boy to that just to keep up that alliteration). They had probably sat there for a certain amount of time since that punk FE guy didn't knock the door, so they were a little wilty looking (although the packaging assured me--correctly--that the flowers would perk up with water).
Bob: Who is sending you flowers?
Me (with a shrug): I don't know. It must be my secret admirer.
Bob: Well, I hope they put my name on it.
And then, Bob: Oh, it's Tiffany. [For some reason, he really likes to pick on her....] Why would someone send you dead-looking flowers?
And more Bob: Oh wait, they were already dead when they bought them, like as soon as they cut the stems. Why would you buy someone dead flowers?
When we were first married, this really disturbed me, because I like to receive flowers. Even if they are (technically) dead. Fortunately, I have a BFF (best friend forever) who will buy me (technically) dead flowers on a special occasion, and I can appreciate my husband's logical appreciation for the symbolics of gift giving.
And no, you did not just hear me snort or snicker. I appreciate my husband's thoughtfulness, especially since he did bring me all sorts of chocolate & peanut butter (together) for my birthday. What more can a husband do, right?
Maybe I should send flowers and sign it Bob and see what happens. That might be funnier.
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