You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore

We stopped at the local cemetery on the way home on Friday. And as I walked around the place, I looked back at our car to see that my husband had opened the car trunk and was putting something inside. Hmm. I wondered a bit; forgot about it nearly instantly.

But when we got home, later I looked, and the Moose and Tiny Tiger appeared to be riding a pinky-purple floral bomb on the bed. What was that? Flowers? From the GRAVEYARD? 

So I asked my husband: "Where did you get the flowers?"
"From the graveyard," he replied, with a grin.
"YOU DIDN'T STEAL THEM FROM SOME POOR DEAD PERSON's GRAVE!!!" I admonished, shocked and appalled.
"Of course not!" he replied; "They were in the garbage can!"

This is all a long way around of telling you that I got flowers from my husband this week. Even if they WERE dead-people flowers, from the local graveyard, and not even that, but from the GARBAGE CAN IN THE GRAVEYARD, we all thought they were pretty darn nice!

And they say romance is dead. . . .*

Our soundtrack song is Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond, with You Don't Bring Me Flowers.

*That's my boy! Slaying it on the romance front since August 1986. This is such an embarrassing story that I almost didn't tell it. But in a way, it is just perfectly awful and funny all at the same time. So here it is!