Practical Love: a story in 60 seconds

“Assumptions are the termites of relationships.” --- Henry Winkler

“Well, are you going to open it?” he asked eagerly.

His wife looked down at the small rectangular box wrapped sweetly in floral printed paper.

“Of course,” she said. “I just want to savor the surprise.”

“I hope you like it,” he said, rocking back and forth. “I mean, I think you’ll like it, but sometimes, well, sometimes, picking an anniversary gift is hard, you know?”

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” his wife answered reassuringly.

“I saw this ad on—never mind. You know what? Just open it. Then I’ll tell you.”

His excitement made her weary.

“Okay, okay,” she said, smiling. “I’ll open it.”

With eyes glistening, he watched as she began tearing away the wrapping paper. She lifted the box’s simple white lid and slowly removed each layer of tissue.  

“So?” her husband asked. “What do you think?”

She glared at him. “Give me a second to figure out what it is!”

“Right,” he apologized. “Sorry, sorry.”

Whatever it was, she struggled to lift it, but she eventually wrestled the thing from the box and held it out before her. After twisting the object from side to side, she set it down on the coffee table along with the packet of papers and certificates that came with it.

“You hate it…” her husband lamented.

“I don’t hate it,” she said, staring. “I just think it needs a bit of explanation, that’s all.”

“Oh, of course,” he said, sporting a goofy smile. “Well, I know you love getting flowers. But the sad part about flowers is they wilt. And then they die. Not to mention they’re harmful to the environment, between the water consumption, and the chemical usage, and the exploitative labor practices, and all that…

“So you got me…a rock?” she asked, holding the gift in her hand.

He laughed and squeezed her knee. “It’s not a rock, babe—it’s a ‘Forever Flower.’ They’re hand-sculpted from South African limestone, numbered, and totally sustainable. It’s like a flower and a piece of artwork all in one! Except you don’t have to water it or worry about it attracting bugs or making me sneeze.”

“Oh,” she said weakly. “It’s numbered?”

“Yep. This one is…” he flipped over the stone flower and peeked at the base, “…number 427 of 500.”

He placed it back down carefully.

His wife stared at it. “Thank you,” she said after some time. “It’s everything I love about flowers…”

“But without all the nuisance!” he shouted, finishing the thought. “Plus, I read online that they appreciate in value. So maybe in a few years, you can sell it.”

“It’s beautiful, dear,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “You know me so well…”

***Thank you all for reading, liking, and restacking. Seriously, these simple actions mean so much. I wouldn’t be able to summon the energy and focus necessary to write these things if you all weren’t so supportive.***