Let Me Explain…

Yesterday there was a knock at the door.  It was a woman, she was apologizing all over herself for her mistake, but I could barely hear what she was saying through…Photobucket
Apparently after my meltdown and consequent Truth Speech about the way I feel concerning flowers, my husband called in the next day and ordered me a huge-o bouquet. And they forgot to deliver it.
Like I care!
I didn’t even know they were coming! To have them arrive at any time was pretty much amazing unto me!

Aren’t they beautiful? Isn’t my husband sweet?
Do I feel horribly selfish for finally admitting out loud that I prefer delivered flowers? YES! YES! YES!

Last night, I said to my husband “I need to explain something to you.”
And he said, “Ok.”
“I’m not big on flowers. If you don’t send them to me for Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day or my birthday… I’m okay with that. It doesn’t make much difference to me. But when you do decide to get them for me -which I most sincerely hope you do on some random Thursday where you just happened to think of me -get the ordered kind. I don’t care if it’s one carnation. I don’t care if it’s one rose. I don’t care what it is! And you know something else I would love JUST as much? Hand-picked wildflowers -even if it’s just alfalfa sprigs.”

I sincerely hope he doesn’t hate me.  I know he doesn’t.  But still…
It’s bad enough he married a woman that has the audacity to tell him the truth about her feelings concerning flowers.

In other news, I came to the stark realization last night that my life will never complete if I don’t learn Italian and then get box seat at an Italian Opera.
Okay, that might not seem stark to you.
But when you live a life as action-packed as mine… stark is an understatement.

I especially like how it teaches us to say -in Italian -that we don’t speak Italian. Handy!
If you’re not keen on opera, try a modern version composed by Jeremy Sams and featured in the 1995 version of Persuasion.

You can’t object to it -you absolutely can not.
You’re allowed to object to Pavarotti, I guess:

But OH how I don’t!
And when I die, I will meet him on the other side and say -in perfect Italian …

“I need help.”


  1. Being honest, even about gifts, is one step closer to a perfect marriage. 23 years and counting, honesty is getting easier, and our marriage is getting better. I am at a very happy place in my marriage, my husband knows when to buy what and what brand and when not to question my little idiosyncrasies. I also know when to keep my mouth shut and when to laugh at his jokes. Also, he looks a bit like Pavoratti, and has a beautiful tenor voice, so – all contributing to that Happy Place.

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