A coworker brought me flowers last week (she regularly buys flowers for people). My lover realized that he had never brought me flowers. Unless you count edible wildflowers we found on walks. Of course, he never bought me flowers because he is actually grows poppies, marigolds, yarrow and more. (Besides, many bought flowers use enough pesticides to contribute to long-term health problems to workers.)
Of course, my ex did love ‘romantic’ gestures. These generally creeped me out. He spent hours making me CDs with mushy love songs. He loved to sneak into my living space and decorate it with candles and hearts. He made magazines mimicking celebrity mags with our faces on them and cute little articles about how we had been spotted together. Usually this involved putting my face on Jennifer Lopez’ body. His nickname for me was J-llo because he said I jiggled with I ran. Somehow I could never convince him this was not flattering.
He would sing me songs. I don’t mind people writing me poems or singing me songs but they have to be either sincere, witty, or sarcastic. Sappy songs annoy me. I have nothing against being sincerely sweet, but these songs seemed as genuine as Cool-Whip.
I felt bad that I did not appreciate this romantic guy. It was my fault for being: cold-hearted, unrealistic, unappreciative, unresponsive… The problem was that when I did not react the way I was supposed to- gooey admiration – I was wrong. I was supposed to love these gestures whether I liked them or not. He either did not know what I really liked or did know but disapproved and tried to change me.
That is one of the biggest gifts my lover gives me: seeing who I am and appreciating me.
He also occasionally brings me olives or finds an unexplored bike route with sandstone cliffs.