So today, I've been with my bloke for five years. That's *forever*.
Am particularly impressed that we haven't killed each other yet, given that for four of those years, we've been living *and* working together (We've followed each other from job to job - whenever we start something new, they either have a gap in marketing or tech and because we both rate each other professionally as well as personally, we've landed each other jobs)
It's odd how times change. When we first met, it was the whole sickly 'woo-hoo, we've been together for six months. Let's go out for dinner and repeat sweet nothings to each other until the people at the next table throw up.'
Today, I woke up and blearily mumbled 'Oh, isn't it the 18th? That's our anniversary. Guess I should cancel going out to the pub with my mate tonight.'
Although it beats the year that he remembered and I forgot. He walked into the pub with 24 red roses. I - thinking quickly - said 'Oh darling, thanks so much. I've got us dinner reservations' - then snuck off to the loo with my mobile to make the call.
I got roses again today. I like roses. I don't care if they're a cliche (or that when my sister worked at a florists, they used to spend February 13th dying cheaper yellow roses red) . They're romantic. And he didn't get them for me because he has no imagination. He got them for me cos he knows I like them.
Guess I'll push the boat out and cook dinner tonight.
Who says romance is dead?
Posted by emilyd at September 18, 2002 06:59 PM