JOPLIN, Mo. —
I spent 10 minutes the other day looking for our wedding album.
Technically, it really isn’t a wedding album. Sure, there are pictures of our wedding in it, but instead of saying something like “Our Wedding” on the cover, my wife ordered one that says “What the &%$# Was I Thinking?”
It must have been some sort of mistake.
I was looking for the album because our wedding anniversary was coming up and I needed to check one of the pictures in it.
The picture is a very important one and can mean the difference between my wife calling me “thoughtful and considerate” or “an insensitive moron.”
The picture is a close-up of my wife’s hands, but that’s not what makes it important. It’s what my wife’s hands are lying on top of that makes it important — a bouquet of 12 pink roses. I picked the roses out myself the day that we got married in Key West, Fla.
Actually, I didn’t pick out the roses so much as they picked out me. My wife and I were relaxing by the hotel pool a few hours before we were to get married when it occurred to me that perhaps I should get my wife some flowers for the wedding.
Hey, I remembered the rings, at least.
OK, I didn’t remember the rings. My wife did. But it’s not important that I didn’t think about flowers until a few hours before we got married. What’s important is that I thought about them before we got married.
When I realized that I probably should get some flowers for the wedding, I hopped into the rental car and stopped at the first flower shop I found. Then I calmly walked into the shop and yelled:
The nice lady in the flower shop — who didn’t seemed surprised that I was flower shopping three hours before I was supposed to get married — said that she had a dozen arranged pink roses.
“I’LLTAKETHEM!” I said, and then I paid for them and drove back to the hotel.
“Where have you been?” my wife asked when I came back out to the pool.
“I wasn’t at the flower shop, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said.
My wife muttered something that sounded like, “I knew this was a mistake” and then went inside to get ready.
Despite almost forgetting the flowers, our wedding was very nice. We got married on a sailboat, and the wedding photographer drank most of our champagne. That was OK because the champagne was cheap and the photos he took were nice, including the one with my wife’s hands lying on top of the pink roses.
Because I really am thoughtful and considerate, every year for our anniversary I get my wife a dozen pink roses. But because I am also an insensitive moron, I have trouble remembering if the roses I bought my wife on the day of our wedding were pink or yellow, which is why — every year — I have to look at the picture in our wedding album.
Veteran married women who are reading this are thinking, “What sort of insensitive moron can’t remember the color of the roses at his wedding?”
Veteran married men who are reading this are thinking, “How can he remember they were roses?”
One year — and this is a true story that I in no way think is funny — I actually bought my wife yellow roses for our anniversary.
“These are nice,” my wife said. “Why did you get yellow?”
Knowing that honesty is the best policy in a strong marriage, I looked my wife in the eyes and said, “They were out of pink.”
Hey, I may be insensitive, but I’m not a complete moron.
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