I really should have “people” to do that sort of thing for me, because I harbor a “hate gardening” gene in my DNA. As it was, I planted about 241 more hostas, then, since the gloves were still on my hands, I planted petunias in the long (really long) window box on the front of the house. Then I planted geraniums in the two urns, also in the front of the house. To complement the red geraniums, I stuck in some little white flowers beside them.
I do this every year and every year, the white flowers have a life expectancy of about 30 minutes. I guess I don’t put them in right, but hope springs eternal and I always think they’ll surprise me by living for at least a few weeks. Sadly, they’re already beginning to droop.
Don’t get me wrong – I love flowers. I just think they just should come with little elves to plant, water and tend to them.
My favorite flowers are daisies. Bing was lucky – I was a cheap date. However, he never quite got that – every year when he had a few extra shekels, he would send me roses. I would, of course, exclaim over them and refrain from saying, “Didn’t they have any daisies?” (I do, after all, have some sense.)
It was the same when it came to jewelry. I have never subscribed to the theory, “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” I prefer pearls. My engagement ring is a pearl – as an impoverished law student, that’s all Bing could afford. No matter how many times I insisted all I wanted was a pearl, I don’t think he believed me. Years later, when he was no longer impoverished, he bought me a diamond ring. It’s lovely and I exclaimed over it and managed not to ask, “Didn’t they have any pearls?” (I told you I have some sense.)
Our roles were reversed when it came to his clothes. He firmly believed no man needed more than two sweaters. I, of course, knew better and occasionally brought home a new sweater for him. “I really don’t need another sweater,” he would announce with a puzzled look on his face. I would immediately plaster a hurt look on my face and he would quickly assure me, “But this one is really a beauty!”
Worked every time.
I once knit him a sweater when we were in college. I’m not a very good knitter, but all my friends were knitting sweaters for their boyfriends, so I thought it must be the thing to do. I struggled mightily with it, but finally finished and proudly presented it to him. He tried it on – it was handsome. Never mind that the sleeves ended somewhere around his knees. “Could you shorten the sleeves a little?” he asked timidly, after raving about what a fine sweater it was. “No,” I replied firmly, “that’s the way they’re supposed to be.”
The truth is, I had no idea how to shorten them and besides I was thoroughly sick of the whole thing. So he manfully shoved up the sleeves and wore the the sweater for several years until it finally snagged and fell apart. He pretended to be crestfallen.
In my next life, I’ll be an accomplished gardener and a whiz at knitting.
Or better yet, I’ll have People!