Five Roses

I used to tell my boyfriends that I didn’t like flowers. What kind of symbol was that for love, pretty things that die? Except that I think I used to tell them this in order to let them off the hook so I wouldn’t expect anything that was unlikely to come.

And then M bought me a single red rose surrounded by a cluster of baby’s breath for our first Valentine’s Day together and I was shocked that such a simple thing sent me over the moon.

I wasn’t expecting much for my birthday this year. After all, I hadn’t done much for M… he is particularly difficult to buy for and since his birthday is just after Christmas, I mostly have no more mental energy to come up with something awesome. And anything less than awesome is not really good enough.

Of course, M has it a lot easier: I’m pretty easy to buy for. I love all the traditional things and plenty of less traditional gifts. But still, I was pretty surprised when he walked into the apartment with a beautiful bouquet of roses on Friday after work.

My birthday was the perfect day, full of friends and love and a little bit of fun. And roses.


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