My Beloved told me once, early on in our relationship, not to expect flowers from him on Valentine’s Day, or my birthday (which is in December). They’re out of season and stupidly expensive, and wouldn’t it be nicer to get flowers on some unexpected day, rather than when everyone else is getting them? And spend the money on other stuff?
Pragmatist that I am, this was fine with me. Because, really. They’re flowers. They die. No big. And Valentine’s Day is a greeting-card holiday. Beyond that, I do not aspire; it’s too much to expect of a midwinter day.
Nonetheless, Beloved seems to have forgotten about his vow, because I think I’ve more often had flowers for Valentine’s Day than not. Clever boy did it with a twist this year, though; he sent me a bouquet of flowers I cannot identify. Smarty pants.
If you have any idea what they are, clue me in, will you? They’re gorgeous and I’d like to get them again sometime. (Is #4 a purple rose? It’s on a stem with a bud that is not at all purple.)