May men get flowers
Honey, don't give me flowers
"Please, never give me flowers!" That was one of the first sentences I said to my current husband at the time. He was confused. Flowers - that is, so to speak, the materialized happiness of every woman. "And that's exactly where the problem lies!" Was my answer. Because it's just like this: I'm not EVERY woman. And I also don't want to receive gifts that would be suitable for every woman. I think gifts should be something very personal. And by personal I don't mean the categorization into the flower-loving and flower-giving sex.
Flowers are great - it's not that
I'm not completely stupid now either. I think flowers are absolutely beautiful. Especially those in the pot that are allowed to live on. Watching plants die is not really an aesthetic experience in my eyes. Although flowers in pots in my untalented hands don't have the greatest chances of survival, to be completely honest. The problem with flowers is that, in my opinion, they do not express what constitutes the essence of a gift for me, namely: I have thought about you. And this is what I want to contribute to your happiness.
My husband can
I don't want to show off my male specimen now. Although, well, I honestly want to say: my husband can do that by thinking before giving gifts. I'm so glad I never get flowers from him. Otherwise I might not even know how well he knows me.
Once he gave me a pack of Bifi (shortly before the birth of our first child) because you can't eat salami when you're pregnant and I longed for it. He put the pack in my hospital bag and on the day I was born I noticed: Eating Bifi together can be very romantic. Flowers wouldn't have pleased me half as much.
Another time I got a whole box full of vouchers that were very personal. My favorite voucher: "Today you can shrink everything and me without it annoying me" I secretly got the voucher back three times after it was played. The right to my five minutes of negligence 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 some point I had told him that I used to stroll on the way to school and therefore came home way too late. To please my mother, I would often pick a bouquet of wildflowers on the way because I was so sorry that she was worried. When my husband had been unavailable for hours as a police officer during the G20 and I had written him twenty concerned messages, he came back the next day with a bouquet of flowers. "I'm sorry you had to worry," he said. These flowers were the best present I have ever received. Even though they were flowers.
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