I finished work on the pillow shams that go with our bedroom quilt today. I finished the quilt last week, and wanted to make the shams to go with it. So I did. Then I put them on the bed, and this is what I saw:
Flowers. Girly, girly, flowers.
(And fat cats, but that's not really the point I'm trying to make here.)
And then I thought about the fact that I'm not the only one in this room. I do, in fact, share it with a man. What is he going to think?
I know exactly what he's going to think. He'll look at it and tell me it's pretty. Then he'll tell me that I make the house so comfortable. He won't say one word about the girly flowers, not one. I don't even think he'll really notice.
We just celebrated our 11th anniversary. 11th. huh. For 11 years, this man has put up with me and my girly flowers. And not said a word. Now that's really something. So, this post is for you, honey. I don't know if anyone really wonders how this lasted as long as it did, but if they do wonder, all I would have to say is; how could it not? I don't know anyone else who would put up with my chicken obsession, my too many houseplants, too much fabric, too many projects at once, earth-saver wannabe, smacking you in the head in the middle of the night because I had a bad dream....about ducks (sorry) self. No one else would deal with it. No one.
I know you say you are lucky all the time, but I'm lucky too. Thank you for making me lucky, honey. Thank you for putting up with me and all my weirdness. And my girly, girly flowers.