Okay, ladies, in case you are scouring the internet for evidence for the efficiency of endless nagging or drowning downpours of tears, you've come to the right place.
Just before we opened the doors to my aunt's restaurant today, the flower lady arrived bearing gifts for yours truly. Rowdy has insisted for a long time that buying gifts is a waste of energy and money. In fact, he even hates it when people buy them for him because he believes that they will, in turn, expect him to do the same for them.
I'd like to think that the gorgeous bouquet of roses, daisies and carnations was a symbol of his undying devotion, but I'm sure it had more to do with this desire to not spend three hours evaluating the ebbs and flows of our marriage. You know he just loves talking about his innermost feelings.
Either way, I'm tickled pink because my man showered me with romance on my 28th birthday. The flowers were blooming beautiful and the snazzy vase will make great decor until the boys use it as wicked weapon.
Oh, and happy birthday to Anna. The date of your birth is just another sign of your genius.