Honey, do not give me any flowers
"Please, never give me flowers!" That was one of the first sentences I said to my current husband back then. He was irritated. Flowers - that's the materialized happiness of every woman, so to speak. "And that's where the problem lies!" Was my answer. Because it is just like this: I am not EVERY woman. And I do not want to get any gifts that would suit any woman. I think that gifts should be something very personal. And under personal I do not understand the categorization in the flower-loving and flower-giving sex.
Flowers are great - that's not it
I'm not stupid right now. I think flowers are beautiful. Especially those in the pot who are allowed to live on. To watch plants die is, in my opinion, not the most aesthetic experience. But flowers in the pot in my untalented hands do not have the greatest chance of survival, to be honest. The problem with flowers is that, in my opinion, they do not express what constitutes the essence of a gift to me, namely: I've been thinking about you. And this is what I want to contribute to your happiness.
My husband can
I do not want to specify now with my male copy. Although, well, honestly, I mean: My husband can do that with thinking before giving. I am so glad that I never get flowers from him. Maybe I would not know how well he knows me.
Once he gave me a pack of bifis (just before the birth of our first child), because you can not eat salami pregnant and I longed for it. He packed the package into my hospital bag and I realized on the day of the birth: Eating Bifi together can be very romantic. Flowers would not have pleased me half as much.
Another time I got a whole tin of vouchers that were very personal. My favorite voucher: "Today you can do everything and make me a head shorter, without that annoys me" The voucher I have already brought back secretly after playing three times. The right to my five minutes of impropriety is very sacred to me.
The big exception
Only once did I get flowers. And that was nice! Why? Because it was still a personal gift. At one point or another, I told him that I used to walk on the way to school and therefore came home far too late. To graciously congratulate my mother, I often picked a bunch of wildflowers along the way because I was so sorry she was worried. When my husband was out of reach for hours as a policeman during G20 and I had written twenty anxious messages for him, he came back the next day with a bouquet of flowers. "I'm sorry you had to worry," he said. These flowers were the most beautiful gift I have ever received. And that, even though they were flowers.