It’s our wedding anniversary today – 27 years married and 33 together. Sometimes it feels as though it’s a lifetime, and I guess it is. At other times it feels as though it passed in a flash. Which it has.
We’ve both changed a lot over the years. I’m a lot heavier than I was when we were married (you seriously don’t want to know how much) and my hair was a lot shorter and darker back then. He, on the other hand, is in much better shape than he was back then.
As with all partnerships, there have been ups and downs and places in between. Thankfully though, more ups than downs. As a result, he’s still my favourite person to travel through life with – both actually and figuratively. Good marriages do require work and (again) thankfully we’ve been prepared to do that over the years.
Sarah’s home tonight for the weekend (and Mother’s Day) so before we went out for dinner last night to celebrate, he came home with these flowers.
‘There’s a funny story about these,’ he said as I arranged them in the vase. ‘I’d ordered some to be delivered and…’
Right here I’ll pause and mention that in the 33 years we’ve been together, while he does buy flowers for me from time to time (never as an apology – he’s knows how I feel about that – and often when I’m not expecting them which is the absolute best time to buy flowers) he’s never had flowers delivered to me. (Another aside – that doesn’t worry me in the least.)
He has, however, tried. On the anniversary of our first year together he ordered roses from a florist in Canberra who called on the morning and said they couldn’t compete the order. The next year he bought a card with flowers on the outside and a message inside: this is what the flowers I ordered look like in case he doesn’t deliver again. It’s something we’ve joked about ever since.
But, back to my story.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘I get a call this morning from the flower place to tell me they couldn’t complete the order – they’d run out of gerberas because of Mother’s Day.’ Gerberas and daisies happen to be my favourite flowers.
After Grant expressed surprise that they’d taken more orders than they could complete, the florist said, ‘but we can deliver them on Tuesday.’
‘That’s great, but our anniversary is tomorrow.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘they were for an event. I thought they were for Mother’s Day.’
‘Would it have made a difference?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘We still don’t have enough gerberas.’
He then rang around another 4 florists – all of whom were still advertising delivery for Mother’s Day, but all of whom said they had no stock on hand to sell to my husband.
On the way home last night he called in at Woolworths where there were two bunches of drooping sad looking apology style flowers left in the bucket. Getting back in the car he stopped at Coles where he bought these.
‘So,’ he said, after telling me the whole story, ‘it’s happened again. Twice I’ve ordered flowers for you and twice they haven’t been delivered.’
He shook his head. ‘I won’t risk a third.’
It really is the thought that counts. The man’s a keeper.