About 3ish years ago, when David and I were dating, I got one of these killer colds. I actually cancelled a date which I am surprised I mustered up the self control to do because I was so ridiculously smitten with him. Later that day I was woken up by someone ringing the doorbell. At the risk of it being Jesus, or Regina Spektor, I answered the door. There was some stranger standing there with flowers and they asked me to sign a piece of paper. I brought the vase inside and set it on the counter. I assumed it was flowers for Tinna (my roomie with the uber romantic boyfriend). I started to walk back down the hall when I though to myself, "Self, you should check and see who those are for."
The tag read "Anna, I am praying that you feel better and can't wait to see you again."- or something spiritually romantic like that. I got up on the counter and just stared at the flowers. In a daze, actually, because the sinus pressure in my head was blurring my vision. I could not smell the flowers and I don't even remember what kind they were. For all I know, they were carnations. But it didn't matter, they were mine. And they were from a man that I adored. Someone sent me flowers. I had never been sent flowers before. I was absolutely ecstatic. It's pretty hard to make a sick girl feel on top of the world, but he did.
I married that man and he is currently quarantined to the guest room where he is coughing his lungs out. Oh how I love that snotty husband of mine. Still, I love him still. And I was just thinking about the little things that he does that make a huge difference in my life.
