He Loves Me-He Loves Me Not-He Loves Me

Twenty-five years ago Del Rey and I had been dating for a few weeks. He wasn't Del Rey yet. And I wasn't Shirl yet. That is a story for another time.

But 25 years ago we were in the first delirious stages of dating. And along came Valentine's Day. The holiday of L-O-V-E. The celebration of all that is mushy and romantic and sugary.

I remember wondering what the appropriate response to this holiday should be.

How fancy should we be?

How lovey-dovey should we be?

How meaningful should we make this holiday?

It could have been a little awkward. But it wasn't.

It wasn't awkward at all because Doug, in all his clarity, gave me a bouquet of daisies.

Daisies! Imagine that. 

Not roses (typical-but too expensive for a college man).

Not carnations (typical-and cheap for a college man).

Daisies. Sweet, unassuming daisies. 

I was intrigued by this man. I was actually pretty much hooked.

And I couldn't get over the daisies.

Today he brought me my 25th bouquet of daisies (a day early so I can "enjoy them sooner and longer"). He can buy me bigger bouquets these days. Actually, he can buy me any kind of flowers these days, and sometimes he does.

But for Valentine's Day? It will always be daisies.

Always and forever.