I'm a hoarder. He's a Swede. The autumn spring clean was traumatic. But when he made to put the glass vase into one of the black sacks I had a(nother) little tantrum. "It's our only vase!" I wailed, snatching it back from him and trying to hide my grimace when my grabbing fingers became glued to its grime. It's never been used, he reminded me, and we both looked at the sticky evidence cradled in my arms. But... "Nobody is ever going to buy you flowers!" he pointed out. Or joked. Or pointed out. It's hard to know, sometimes, with his gallows humour and my thin thin skin. But he wasn't being a prick, just pragmatic. We've lived together for three years now and in that time nobody has bought me flowers. But I will not allow him to consign my hope to the bin, so the vase stays.
Then last Sunday evening, the Jaffa Cake arrived over with an armful of roses. I was overcome; charmed and pathetically embarrassed. Til we got inside and my inner four year old took over, making with the in your face!!! for the Swede's benefit and ruining the touching moment. But the truth is, apart from my dad, he's the only man ever to have bought me flowers. Chatting to ma confidante about it (and him) she confessed to feeling the same the first time someone bought flowers for her. She thought he was taking the piss, felt embarrassed. "But he just wanted to buy me flowers because he liked me. WEIRD." She is too much like me, this confidante, and I feel for her in this. Because she shouldn't be. "We need to get over this shit, don't we? I mean, we're pretty loveable birds" I say with a sigh and a giggling optimism. She agrees.
It might take a while though. My roses were wilting by Tuesday and, ever anxious to preserve the moment, I decided to dry them. They're strung up in my hot press, and I am sitting here like BlueBeard, with a cup of tea.
Then last Sunday evening, the Jaffa Cake arrived over with an armful of roses. I was overcome; charmed and pathetically embarrassed. Til we got inside and my inner four year old took over, making with the in your face!!! for the Swede's benefit and ruining the touching moment. But the truth is, apart from my dad, he's the only man ever to have bought me flowers. Chatting to ma confidante about it (and him) she confessed to feeling the same the first time someone bought flowers for her. She thought he was taking the piss, felt embarrassed. "But he just wanted to buy me flowers because he liked me. WEIRD." She is too much like me, this confidante, and I feel for her in this. Because she shouldn't be. "We need to get over this shit, don't we? I mean, we're pretty loveable birds" I say with a sigh and a giggling optimism. She agrees.
It might take a while though. My roses were wilting by Tuesday and, ever anxious to preserve the moment, I decided to dry them. They're strung up in my hot press, and I am sitting here like BlueBeard, with a cup of tea.
