Normally my relationship with the new Missus I work for is icy cold and professional, and rightfully so. But now and again there's a moment of genuine affection. Today, Valentine's Day, was one of those moments.
This morning, with the house full of guests all over the place, the Mister came down to breakfast promptly at 10:00am.
He: "Williams, would you mind picking up a couple-of-dozen red roses for me?"
Me: "Of course."
Obviously the old buzzard had forgotten until the last minute that today is St. Valentine's annual resurrection. And just where the heck am I going to find some decent red roses at this late stage of the game? Three flower shops later with no success, I went to our regular market. And to my relief there were still dozens of reds, wrapped and ready to go, although I'd have to arrange them myself. I swung by the candy counter and grabbed a nicely-wrapped box of Belgian Walnut Fudge, zoomed back to the Residence, and threw the roses into a cut-crystal vase.
Much to my relief the Missus had not yet descended for breakfast.
He: (upon seeing the hasty floral arrangement) "Those are nice."
Me: "Yes, and you also bought her a box of Belgian fudge."
He: (with a grin), "That was nice of me, wasn't it?"
Me: "I thought so."
When the Mrs finally did come down for breakfast at 11:30, I pointed out the roses and candy on the kitchen island.
She: "Who are those from?"
Me: "Your husband."
And then, in a very rare moment indeed -
She: (with a smile and affectionate touch on the arm), "So you saved my husband's butt again, didn't you?"
Me: "I'm sure I don't know what you mean". (And then I smiled back at her.)
And off she went to the breakfast room. An hour later it was, "Williams can you do this, Williams can you do that"- business as usual. But just for one brief moment this morning this household celebrated St. Valentine's Day in our own peculiar way.
Thanks for reading tonight, and Happy St. Valentine's to you.